


Fates III: Coruscant Shuffle

by Mengde



Series: Sith Apprentice: Darth Venge [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Sith Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has been targeting the scum of Coruscant's underworld - murderers, slavers, assassins - and literally burning their crimes into their flesh.  With a lightsaber.  Supreme Chancellor Hego Damask asks Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, to investigate.</p><p>Meanwhile, with the Confederacy of Independent Systems on the rise, the issue of whether the Republic should create a military to counter the impending threat has never been more hotly debated.  It has made Senator Amidala's life quite difficult indeed.  Things have gotten a little easier of late, however, after she met a very interesting man with tattoos around his eyes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Vigilante Jedi

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Re-Entry Official Timeline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913029) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> Hello again, it's Mengde! We're back, five years later, at the start of what would be the canonical Episode II (or thereabouts). As always, credit where credit is due: Venge was originally created by deadcatwithaflamethrower, and he is used here with many thanks to her.
> 
> I have rated this story M rather than T because there is some rather graphic violence slash torture (see the summary for what it might be). Also probably some smut later. I don't write a lot of smut but hey, I'm feeling lucky.

Associate Planetary Representative Elessan’ra knew she was in trouble.

She liked to take the secured pedway from Senator Orn Free Taa’s office to her apartment.  After a long day of being cooped up indoors with the corpulent glutton, she enjoyed the relatively fresh air of the walk.  Coruscant at night was always stunning, millions of lights gleaming in the dimness.

The pedway was _supposed_ to be heavily guarded at all access points, to keep out what her employer would call “undesirable elements.”  The four deliberately-scruffy men who had surrounded her and drawn vibroblades were therefore no ordinary street gang out for a night’s mugging.  The lack of other foot traffic on this stretch of the pedway was also unusual.

This situation had clearly been _arranged._

“Credstick,” the lead man said.  “Also jewelry.  Any other valuables.  We’ll even say ‘please.’”

Elessan’ra narrowed her eyes.  These men did not intimidate or fool her.  Even putting aside her chaotic and violent childhood, working for Orn Free Taa by itself demanded thick skin and thicker backbone.  The corrupt leech had hired her on the spot when he’d seen her distinctive red skin.  A Lethan Twi’lek assistant was a status symbol for him.  She was more than willing, if not precisely happy, to hang off his arm and let the Senate think her his consort in exchange for the ridiculous amounts of money he paid her.

“Let’s not waste time,” she said.  “You’re here to make my death look like a mugging gone wrong.  But you want to be sure questions are asked.  How did the murderers gain access to a secured pedway?  Why bother with vibroblades when they could have taken her bare-handed, with the advantage of numbers?”  She crossed her arms.  “It will end up unsolved, all the same, but with all those questions, my murder will be a message to Senator Orn Free Taa.”

The men exchanged glances.  The leader’s body language suddenly changed.  He discarded the shifty, cautious mannerisms of a being somewhere they ought not to be in favor of the easy grace and confidence of a professional assassin closing in on his mark.  The other three followed suit.

“Senator Taa’s involvement with the Loyalist Committee is going to end,” the leader said coldly.  “However many dead aides it takes.”

He took a deliberate step forward.  Elessan’ra braced herself for action.  She didn’t know if she could stop four armed professionals, but she could at the very least make them work for it.

There was a snap-hiss and the sound of booted feet landing heavily on the pedway behind her.  Rather than glance over her shoulder – or worse, show the assassins her back – Elessan’ra took a long lateral step to bring the newcomer into her field of view while still monitoring her assailants.

The figure wore a dark, hooded cloak which hid its face.  The build and body language said _male_ to her.  The activated, sky-blue lightsaber in his right hand said _Jedi._

In eerie silence, he fell on the four men.  Elessan’ra withdrew two steps to let him work.

The closest assassin rushed him, trying to end the fight quickly.  He was good, obviously experienced with the vibroblade, but the Jedi sidestepped his stab almost contemptuously before sweeping the lightsaber in a wicked arc through the man’s head.  He crumpled, the dome of his skull rolling grotesquely away from his body.  The second assassin got to take one step before the Jedi twitched a hand at him.  An invisible grip plucked him up and hurled him off the pedway into a kilometers-long fall.

The remaining two assassins moved to flank the Jedi, coming in from opposite angles.  For his part, the Jedi waited until they had almost closed to within striking distance.  He thrust an open palm at the leader.  He went flying, thrown onto his back four meters down the pedway.  With blinding speed, the Jedi whirled to confront his other foe.  Even as the assassin thrust with his vibroblade, the Jedi darted out his free hand and snatched the man’s blade wrist, arresting the blow.

Then he scythed his lightsaber up, bisecting the assassin from groin to skull.

Elessan’ra withdrew another step in shock.  No Jedi she’d ever seen was so vicious.  But he wasn’t done.  He launched himself into a Force leap which landed him on the last assassin’s chest, making him cry out in pain.  The Jedi delivered a sharp, booted kick to his target’s temple, knocking him unconscious and doubtless concussing him.  He moved to interpose his robed body between Elessan’ra and the downed assassin.  The lightsaber in his right hand blurred, doing something she couldn’t see from this angle.  There was a strong, horrible odor of burned flesh.

Then the Jedi leapt over the side of the pedway and disappeared into Coruscant’s night.

She ran to the railing, but there was no sign of her brutal savior.  A moment later she heard a sound which instantly plunged her through the depths of memory, back into the communal warren in which she’d spent her childhood on Ryloth.

Weeping.

The last assassin was sobbing, probably overcome by shock or pain.  Elessan’ra moved swiftly to his side and relieved him of his vibroblade.  As she did so, she felt her stomach twist at the sight of what the Jedi had done.  His weeping seemed perfectly justified.

Slashed into the flesh of his chest were long, thin burn marks.  The marks formed crude Aurebesh letters.

**KILLER**

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the word cruelly burned into the chest of this latest – victim?  _Target,_ he decided.  _Victim_ would have been appropriate in any ordinary context, but these circumstances were far from ordinary.

The holoimage showed the one survivor from the party of four human assassins sent by suspected Separatist factions to kill Senator Orn Free Taa’s aide.  His mark said **KILLER**.  Qui-Gon paged to the next image on the datapad.  This was an image of a Twi’lek man sprawled in an alleyway.  He was marked in a similar fashion, though the word in this case was **RAPIST.**

Qui-Gon flipped through more images.  **ABUSER.  PUSHER.  TRAFFICKER.  SLAVER.**

He felt a shiver of anger run through the young man at his side when this last image appeared.  A Gran, face-down on a landing platform, the word carved into his back rather than his chest.  Surrounded by younglings of various species, all of them with freshly-cut manacles.  None of them could have been older than his Padawan when he’d first taken the boy from Tatooine.

“Be mindful of your feelings, Anakin,” he said calmly.

His Force senses detected the brief struggle for control, followed by the return of calm.  “Yes, Master,” Anakin said.

Qui-Gon shut off the datapad and placed it down on the desk in front of him.  He looked up at the being occupying the other side of it.  “Why bring this to us?”

Supreme Chancellor Hego Damask laced his inhumanly long fingers together and pressed them against the surface of the desk.  Qui-Gon tried to read the Muun’s expression, but couldn’t get a sense of anything but cold, calculating intellect.  It had been this way more than thirty years ago, when they’d first met on Serenno.

“The Jedi are essential to the survival of the Republic,” Damask said.  “Where the systems fail, where beings fall between the cracks of justice, the Jedi are there.  You recall our agreement that the Jedi have cornered the market on ethics?  It is important to the citizens of the Republic that you have.  It comforts them to know there is a force for absolute, incorruptible good in these dark and dangerous times.”  He nodded his oversized head at the datapad.  “This flies directly in the face of that idea.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “I see.”

“PR,” Anakin said.  “This is generating bad press and you want it stopped.  That’s why you’re bringing it to us.”

“The old adage is that it takes a thief to catch a thief,” Damask told him.  “I expect the principle holds when dealing with a rogue Jedi who goes about branding people with a lightsaber.”  He made eye contact with Qui-Gon, then Anakin.  “You two can deal with this?”

“Consider it solved, Supreme Chancellor,” Qui-Gon said.

“Excellent.”  The Muun nodded at each of them.  “May the Force be with you, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon waited until he and Anakin were in their speeder, headed for the Jedi Temple, and at least a kilometer from the Supreme Chancellor’s office, before he asked the question.  “Where were you last night, Anakin?”

He felt his Padawan’s instinctive flare of emotions.  A touch of anger, embarrassment, resignation.  “Meditating in the Temple, Master,” the young man replied.

The Jedi Master laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.  “Anakin.  This is important.  If you and I are going to be the ones investigating these… _incidents,_ then we need first and foremost to establish that neither of us are responsible for them.  I was with Master Yoda at the time of the attack.  Where were you?”

Anakin looked uncomfortably at Qui-Gon before returning his gaze to their speeder’s path.  “Visiting Mom.”

“When did you return?”

“Oh-three-hundred.”  Anakin made a face.  “We can’t do plausible deniability if I _tell_ you I was visiting her, Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “I know, Anakin.  But in this case the need for establishing our whereabouts outweighs the need to avoid lying to Master Yoda about where my Padawan goes on his free nights.”

Anakin returned the smile with a crooked grin.  “And when was the last time _you_ went to visit Mom?”

That definitely deserved a rebuke.  “For the last time, Anakin, it’s not your business when your mother and I choose to have tea.  Your attempts to set us up are both transparent and baffling.”

Anakin’s crooked grin remained.  “Okay, Master.  Whatever you say.”

Suppressing a sigh, Qui-Gon returned his focus to the matter at hand.  As little as he trusted the Supreme Chancellor – well, _both_ Supreme Chancellors, really, but he mistrusted Hego Damask strictly more than Palpatine – the Muun had a point.  Whoever this Vigilante Jedi was, he was souring public opinion at a time when it was even more important for the Order to maintain a good public face.  His own former master, Dooku, had been on the propaganda warpath against the Jedi, criticizing them as enforcers for a morally corrupt oligarchy.

Qui-Gon felt his lip twitch.  The Force told him a confrontation between them was inevitable.  He was not looking forward to it.

“So what are you thinking, Master?” Anakin asked.  “I feel like we should examine the scene of the crime, and check holocam recordings for the pedway and the surrounding areas.”

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “A good thought, my young Padawan.  But no, not yet.  The crime scene and holocams will keep.  I want some help on this investigation.”

He felt Anakin brighten.  “Maul?”  The Padawan and the Zabrak Knight got on inexplicably well, considering that Anakin was cheerful, sarcastic, and verbose, and Maul was – well, Maul _could_ be sarcastic.  Perhaps that was their common ground.

With a nod, Qui-Gon said, “Yes.  Maul.”

* * *

Senator Padmé Amidala had been having a long day for about six months now.

The Military Creation Act had been proposed half a year ago, and not a day had gone by after she’d helped found the Loyalist Committee that she hadn’t spent fighting.  Fighting the media, which threw loaded questions about patriotism and Separatist sympathies at her.  Fighting the Senate, which was by and large all too eager to take funds earmarked for humanitarian aid or social programs and spend them on creating a military.  Fighting fatigue, caused by a too-demanding schedule and her own refusal to admit defeat on any front, even a personal one.

She hadn’t yet been targeted for assassination or extortion by the anti-Loyalist extremists who had tried to kill Representative Elessan’ra, but she expected to be literally fighting them any day now too.

Relief of any sort was so rare, so precious, that she felt almost guilty.  It was time she could be spending working, time she could be spending planning or strategizing.  But today, after dealing with the media firestorm surrounding the Vigilante Jedi and the attempt on the Representative, Padmé was going to have the night to herself to relax, and damn anyone who tried to tell her otherwise.

At least, that was the idea until she opened the door to her quarters.

It wasn’t clear how he’d gotten in.  At Captain Typho’s insistence, her private residence had enough security to rival the Chancellor’s office.  And yet he’d still managed to circumvent all of that and plant himself on her divan, his feet up, his posture utterly relaxed.  His brown hair was cut short, and he sported a trim beard.  His blue eyes were framed by strange tattoos which looked especially dark against his pale skin.  He wore a dark robe and leather boots.

He grinned at her.  “Padmé.  You look different with your hair up.  I like it.”

Padmé felt herself blush intensely at his words.  She’d known the man for all of three days and he could elicit this kind of reaction?  It should make her furious.

But there was no fury.  Just a quiet satisfaction at seeing him there, waiting for her.  Knowing that the evening wasn’t going to be relaxing, but that it would be _quite_ enjoyable.

She smiled, closing the door behind her.  “Hello, Ben.”


	2. Their First Meeting

Padmé graciously accepted the glass of sparkling Chandrilan wine from the server.  He smiled at her before moving off to work the rest of the floor.  Casting her gaze around the luxurious dining hall rented out by Orn Free Taa, Padmé saw that the attendees had swelled by another two or three dozen.  She picked several senators out of the crowd, along with a few lobbyists and corporate executives.

She took a sip of the wine to kill the taste of bitterness.  She’d argued with the rest of the Loyalist Committee about spending so much money on renting out the Manarai for this fundraiser, but in the end they’d been proven right.  People who would never be caught dead at a Loyalist function were turning out en masse for a chance to be seen at the Manarai.  “The first rule of politics is the same as the first rule of business,” Orn Free Taa had said.  “Where there is money, used correctly, more money will follow.”

Because now that these people were here, so too were their pocketbooks.  And even a modest donation from one of them – well, what _they_ considered “modest” dwarfed the salary Padmé had received as Queen of Naboo.

She realized she was being watched.

He was lean, bearded, handsome in an easy way.  Most distinctive were the strange markings ringing his blue eyes.  He wore a dark business suit cut trim.  She didn’t recognize him, despite there being something familiar about him, but she certainly recognized the look he was giving her.  Mentally, she prepared herself to fend off the attentions of yet another entitled Coruscant rich boy.

“What a waste of money,” he observed as he approached her.

Padmé was taken aback.  This was not how she’d expected him to open the conversation.  “You disagree with the Loyalist Committee’s aims?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he replied easily.  “I’m talking about this entire affair.  The Manarai, the wine and food, the guest speakers scheduled to lecture us on the dangers of militarization.  If Orn Free Taa wanted, he could raise millions just by cashing in the myriad favors he’s accumulated with so many… _diverse_ beings.”  He smiled bitterly at her.  “But any excuse for a party, am I right?”

Padmé frowned.  She’d certainly heard the rumors about the Rutian Twi’lek being involved in shady business, but not to the extent this man implied.  “Do I know you?” she asked, deciding not to pry further and to redirect the conversation in a more neutral direction.  “You seem familiar.”

“No, I don’t think you do know me.  But, naturally, I know _you,_ Senator Amidala.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, then,” she said.

“Ben,” he said with a cordial nod.

“Ben,” she repeated.  “No surname?  No title?”

“Isn’t it more interesting to leave all that shrouded in mystery?” he asked.  “To just be two people, speaking at a dull fundraiser?”

Perhaps she should have been more insistent, but there was something refreshing about his idea.  “If you think this is a waste of money, why are you here?” she asked, content to play along for now.

He grinned at her, like he was taking her into his confidence.  “The wine is good.  The bloat-eel hasn’t killed anyone yet.  And the conversation is, so far, enjoyable.”

Padmé quirked a smile at him.  “Flattery is wasted on me, Ben.”

“I’m sure it is.  You know exactly how accomplished you are, you don’t need it confirmed for you.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “Are you going to mention my beauty next?  Maybe my eyes?”

“Physical beauty is immaterial,” he replied archly.  “Appearances can be manufactured or changed at will.  It’s actions that say who a person is, and yours burn especially bright.  Governor of Theed at thirteen, Queen at fourteen, Senator at twenty-two.  You make Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s political career look staid by comparison.”

“What happened to ‘two people speaking at a dull fundraiser?’” Padmé pointed out.  “You clearly know a great deal about me.”

Ben nodded, conceding the point.  “Fair.  Let me rephrase, then.  Isn’t it more interesting for you, the accomplished Senator, to be speaking with a mysterious stranger at a dull fundraiser?”

Internally, she frowned.  She couldn’t deny _that_ point, even if she wanted to.  Padmé asked, “Alright.  But if we accept what you say as true – actions being a person’s measure – then how am I supposed to measure _you_?”

With a shrug, Ben replied, “You can’t.  Not truly.  But that’s part of why you’re still talking to me.  The mystery.”

“And what if I said good evening and left?” Padmé inquired, testing the waters.

He snatched a glass of sparkling wine from a passing server and took a measured sip.  “Then I’d have to seriously reevaluate my ability to read people, because right now you seem to me the kind of person who can’t stand to leave a good mystery unsolved.”

Damn him, he was right.

“Who are you here with?” Padmé asked.  “You must be an aide or assistant, because I would probably know you otherwise.”

“I’m not _with_ anyone.  I came here by myself.”

“Were you invited?”

“No.”  He took another sip of wine, eyes fixed on hers, both of them aware that the rest of the evening balanced on the fulcrum of this instant.  Either Padmé sent him away, with the lack of an invitation a perfect, airtight pretext, or she ignored it and let him stay.  He’d placed the power firmly in her hands.

She admired the gamble.

“How did you get in?” she asked, knowing the fact that she was not instantly calling for security meant her decision had been made.  Unless he’d hurt someone to get in or otherwise proved himself a threat, Padmé wanted to keep talking to him.

“Wear a nice suit, be charming, and say please, and you will be amazed where you can go,” Ben replied.

“And why are you here?”

Ben laughed.  “‘Why’ doesn’t factor into it.  Or at least it only factors in as far as ‘why not.’”

Padmé stared at him.  “You talked your way into a fundraiser you think is a waste of money and are now shamelessly flirting with me for no reason other than ‘you can?’”

“The talking my way in bit, yes.  But when I saw you, I decided I _wanted_ to flirt.”  He gave her a calculating look.  “So far, I’m glad I acted on the impulse.”

In spite of herself, Padmé smiled at him.  “I must admit that I am too.”

* * *

Ben was a good conversationalist, possessed of a dry wit, and capable of doing uncannily accurate impersonations of half a dozen senators, including Orn Free Taa.  Padmé could not recall the last time she’d had to stifle actual, genuine laughter while at a political function.  Midway through the evening she made a conscious decision to avoid any more Chandrilan wine – not because she was getting tipsy, but because she wanted to be completely clear-headed.  She wanted to be sure that the things she was feeling about Ben were genuine and not the result of chemically-lowered inhibitions.

Two hours of clear-headedness did not diminish his charms or the very specific ideas which were occurring to her about how she wanted the evening to go.  She excused herself to use the ’fresher so she could comm Captain Typho and tell him she wanted the rest of the evening to herself, no security escort.  She weathered the barrage of predictable protestations until he acquiesced.

The moment came when the party was breaking up and he walked her to her speeder, offering her his arm in a silly old-guard chivalric gesture.  Padmé accepted with mock seriousness.  As they neared the vehicle, she turned to him, wondering how best to broach the subject of what he was planning to do with the rest of his night.

He looked down at her.  “Well, Senator Amidala,” he said.  “What do you want?”

Padmé laughed lightly.  “In general?”

“No, I mean right now.”

“Why do I have to be the one to say what they want?” she asked, pitching her voice to indicate she was more teasing than serious.  “As I recall, you’re the one who approached me.  And while your company has been very pleasant, you’ve still deliberately maintained the ‘mystery,’ as you call it.”

He snorted.  “I suppose that’s fair.  But let’s put a spin on things, shall we?  Why don’t I attempt to tell you what _I_ think _you_ want?”

Padmé let go of his arm and leaned against the side of her speeder, letting a small smile play across her face.  “If I want a man to tell me what I want, all I need to do is go to a Senate session, Ben.”

He made a face.  “Fair enough.  Let me try a different approach, then, and meet you halfway.  I shall tell you what I _hope_ you want.”

Padmé crossed her arms.  “This seems like a roundabout way of telling me what _you_ want.”

“Perhaps.  But I said I was meeting you halfway.  You of all people should understand the value of compromise.”

“Alright,” Padmé said with a small wave of her hand.  “What do you hope I want?”

Ben took two deliberate steps, bringing himself enticingly close to her.  “I _hope_ ,” he said, “that you want me to bend down and kiss you.  Gently at first, but then more insistently.  Assuming that goes well, I hope you want me to get into your speeder with you and come back to your apartment.  And once we’re in your apartment, I hope you want me to tear your clothes off, throw you onto the bed, tie you to it, and ravish you until the two of us are too exhausted to move.”

Padmé felt herself shiver, and heat rose to her face.  “Tell me something,” she said, “before I tell you how close your… _hopes_ are to the reality.”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Are you a Jedi?”

Ben laughed.  “No.  Not at all.”

“Then I’m honestly a little baffled,” Padmé said, “how you got it so right.”

“No special trick,” Ben assured her.  “Kisses are better when they start out gentle and become insistent.  The fact that your security contingent isn’t here means you commed them while you were in the ’fresher and told them to give you some privacy.  Tearing your clothes off is more fun than removing them demurely.  Tying you to the bed – well, a senator occasionally wants to let someone else take charge, and it’s a more common fantasy than perhaps you realize.  As for ravishing you to the point of exhaustion…”  He gave her a _my-fault_ shrug.  “That may have been a bit of myself intruding into my sincere hopes about your desires.”

Padmé returned his smile.  “You’re dangerous, aren’t you?”

“Very.  Does that change your mind about any of this?”

She reached up and kissed him – gently at first, then more insistently.  He was right, she reflected.  He was entirely right.  She whimpered involuntarily as he deepened the kiss, running his hands down her arms, then seized her wrists and forced her hands behind her back.  The weight of his body pressed her against the side of her speeder.  For a moment she struggled, testing his grip, and was satisfied to find it firm.  She was confident she could get free if push came to shove, but it was good to feel like matters were out of her hands for once.

After a long, enjoyable minute, he withdrew just enough to break the kiss, though he kept her hands pinned.  “Well, Senator,” he said with a sly smile.  “Shall I abduct you back to your apartment?”

Padmé grinned at him.  “Please.”

If actions were, as Ben had suggested, the truest measure of a person – and Padmé had no reason to disagree – she spent the rest of the evening learning a great deal about him.

A great deal indeed.


	3. Confirming a Theory

With wry amusement carefully hidden from his face, Qui-Gon watched as Maul marched up to the assassin lying in a hospital bed and told him, “Take off your gown.”

The man glared daggers at the Zabrak.  “I’m not doing anything, much less getting naked in front of Jedi, until I get a lawyer.”  He slowly and deliberately raised his right hand – so as not to trigger the stun cuff affixing him to the bed – and gave Maul a rude gesture.

Anakin made no effort to hide his own amusement.  “It’s for the investigation,” he said.  “Either you cooperate, or you get obstruction added to your charges.”  He nodded at the hulking Coruscant police officers flanking either side of the door.  “And then we get Sweetness and Light here to take it off for you.”

Qui-Gon’s two students had done this routine many times.  Anakin called it “Blunt Cop, Sarcastic Cop.”  Occasionally he extended the farce to include Qui-Gon, as “Wise Cop.”

There was no need for Wise Cop today.  Glaring furiously, the assassin reached his free hand behind his head to undo the knot keeping his gown up.  “I’m assuming you want my chest,” he said.  “Unless your scary friend here wants a real show.”

“The chest is fine,” Maul said, not moving his unblinking, baleful gaze from the assassin’s eyes.

With a defeated sigh, the man pulled down the garment so it puddled around his waist.  The wounds on his chest had been bacta-treated, but they had still scarred extensively.  Maul inspected the scars intently, as did Anakin.  Qui-Gon hung back, happy to let his Padawans past and present do their work.

“Right-handed,” Anakin mused.

“Do you see the burn pattern?” Maul asked.  “Difficult to pick out through the scar, but –”

“No, I see it,” Anakin confirmed.  He straightened up.  “Master, have you ever seen this particular kind of scoring before?”

Qui-Gon moved in close to get a good look.  It _was_ very distinctive.  “It isn’t familiar,” he confirmed.  “But it is _not_ the pattern caused by an Adegan blade.  It’s too narrow, and the scattering of the plasma waves is too limited.”

“So I was mutilated by a Jedi with an off-brand laser sword?” the assassin growled.

Anakin shot him a reproving look.  “Seems that way.  But don’t worry, I hear the new high-security prison on Yaga Minor has great health coverage for inmates.  You can get some reconstructive surgery and get back to being exactly as ugly as you were before you tried to kill someone.”  He straightened back to his full height, just a shade taller than Maul and still shy of Qui-Gon.  “Could it be a synthetic crystal?”

“Too irregular,” Maul disagreed.  “Highly focused, but more unstable than Adegan crystals.  Perhaps Ilum?”

“Ilum crystals produce too broad a beam, even compared to Adegan, for this kind of work,” Qui-Gon said.  “My guess would be either Upari or –” he hesitated, a thought prompted by the Force coming to the forefront of his mind – “Stygium.”

Maul studied him.  “Stygium crystals are supposed to be a controlled item.”

“Wait,” Anakin said.  “Number one, let’s discuss this where a Separatist assassin can’t hear us.”

Taking his suggestion, the three Jedi stepped out into the hall.  “Okay,” Anakin continued.  “Number two.  Stygium crystals are used for cloaking devices, not lightsabers.”

“Properly attuned, they can be used as focusing crystals,” Qui-Gon corrected him.  “And as far as that function goes, they are exceptional.  They produce a focused, narrow beam well-suited for precise bladework, and their natural energy-disguising properties render Stygium lightsabers undetectable to normal scanners.”

“And not all Jedi use them because…?” Anakin prompted.

“They’re quite rare, firstly.  The two worlds which produce them guard their supplies jealously and prices are exorbitant.  The Order has great wealth, but our wallets are not bottomless.”

“And secondly?”

Qui-Gon considered how best to phrase this.  “Jedi can already gain access to almost any area, no matter how secure,” he said finally.  “If our lightsabers were all completely undetectable as well, it might send the wrong message.”

Anakin nodded sagely.  “Okay, point taken.  So we’ve got a theory.  What’s our next step?”

“Obtain a Stygium lightsaber and test its burn pattern on living tissue for comparison,” Maul said.

“Okay.  Whose tissue are we going to test this on, exactly?”

Maul just stared at him, impassive.

Sensing his Padawan’s spike of incredulity and concern, Qui-Gon smiled.  The Zabrak enjoyed fooling Anakin too much to be strictly orthodox by Jedi standards – not that any of them were paragons of Jedi doctrine.  “We’ll obtain some raw meat from the Temple kitchens,” he said.  “That should be a close enough comparison for our purposes.”

“Exactly,” Maul agreed, still giving Anakin that blank, intense look.

Anakin stomped off in the direction of the hospital exit, complaining loudly that Maul had an unfair advantage when it came to his sabacc face.

* * *

As it turned out, showing up at the Temple Archive’s Restricted Section entrance holding a slab of raw nerf and asking for a Stygium lightsaber did not, in fact, go smoothly.  Questions were asked.  Jocasta Nu was called.  The nerf dripped on the carpet.

Eventually, Yoda came floating into the room in his hover chair.  “Master Qui-Gon,” he called.  “Hear I do that you and your students, a mystery to solve, you have?”

Qui-Gon granted Yoda a dignified bow, and waited until Maul and Anakin had followed suit before he spoke.  “Master Yoda.  We are attempting to confirm a theory.”

“About a Stygium blade, this theory is?”  Yoda pursed his lips, looking at the nerf Anakin held distastefully in his left hand.  “Related to the Vigilante Jedi, it must be.”

Deciding on a careful approach, Qui-Gon nodded.  “You have heard that Supreme Chancellor Damask asked us to investigate?”

The old Jedi Master frowned.  “Aware, I am.  Disturbing, I find it that the Chancellor came to you, rather than the Council.”

Qui-Gon forced a faint smile.  “Would you prefer that I turn this investigation over to another member of the Order, Master?”  He could feel Anakin start to bristle behind him, and just as quickly sensed Maul’s hand on the young man’s shoulder.  The Zabrak knew the gambit.

And Yoda knew it too, naturally.  But he also knew the price of calling Qui-Gon’s bluff.  Exposing division within the Jedi Order.  Potentially alienating one of the Supreme Chancellors of the Republic.

Yoda’s gaze cooled several degrees.  “Necessary that will not be,” he said.  He floated forward and laid his hand on the entry pad for the Restricted Section.  “Wait here you will,” he said.  “Return quickly, I shall.”

Without looking behind him, Qui-Gon gave Anakin a Force nudge in the small of his back.  “Don’t even think about it, Anakin.”

The young man made an exasperated noise.  “I wasn’t going to, Master.”

“Lie,” Maul said.

Qui-Gon felt rather than saw the dirty look Anakin flashed the Zabrak.  “You know, if _I_ were a Truthsayer, _I_ wouldn’t go around flaunting it.”

“Lie.”

“Maul, you did not spend the last five years honing this ability _just_ to torture my Padawan,” Qui-Gon said mildly, finally turning to face the two of them.

Maul flashed him a look.  “It is certainly one of the primary benefits.”  He glanced back at Anakin.  “And you _were_ thinking of sneaking into the Restricted Section while the door was open.”

Anakin shifted slightly.  “Listen.  Sure, there’s going to be some genuinely bad stuff in there – Sith Holocrons and Sith swords quenched in the blood of innocents or whatever it was they did.  But _looking_ can’t hurt, right?”

“In point of fact it absolutely can,” Qui-Gon said, still mild.

“Correct, your Master is,” Yoda’s voice floated out of the Restricted Section.  Anakin stiffened and took a long step away from the doors behind him.  A moment later, the Jedi Grandmaster reappeared, the Restricted Section closing behind him.  Gripped in one of his small, green hands was an obsidian-black hilt, looking more like a dagger than a modern lightsaber.  “Some things, young Padawans are not meant to see.”

“That saber looks ancient,” Anakin mused, probably trying to redirect the conversation to get around Yoda’s point.

“From a different era, this is,” Yoda told him.  “A time of Jedi Lords and Armies of Light.”  He ignited the blade; a shaft of pure white light sprang from the crude-looking hilt.  “A time when difficult things, some Jedi were called to do.”

He made one quick slash, lightning-fast, so unexpectedly that Anakin didn’t even have time to be surprised.  The nerf smoked.

Then he closed off the blade.  “Confirmed, your theory is?” he asked.

Qui-Gon looked at the stripe of burnt meat bisecting the surface of the nerf.

“Yes, Master,” he replied.  “It is.”

“With this information, what will you do?” Yoda asked.

“Well, ordinarily, Stygium lightsabers are impossible to detect,” Anakin said.  “But since we know exactly what we’re looking for, I could probably rig up some kind of scanner.  If I could study the one you’ve got, that is, Master Yoda.”

Yoda gave him a penetrating stare.  “Return this, you will?”

Anakin nodded eagerly.  “Of course, Master.”

“Mmmm.”  Yoda floated the lightsaber into Anakin’s grasp.  “Anxious I will be to hear reports of your progress, my young Jedi.”

“We will keep you informed, Master,” Maul said with a deep bow.

Yoda’s gaze settled on Qui-Gon, who smiled and bowed as well.  “Thank you for your assistance, Master.”

Still murmuring to himself, Yoda directed his hover chair away.

Qui-Gon waited until the Grandmaster was out of earshot, then looked at Maul.  “So?”

Maul did not smile.  But he raised his brows.  “I am under no obligation to call out _every_ lie I hear.”

“Hey!” Anakin protested.  “I absolutely do intend to return this.  When we’re done with it.”  He looked at Qui-Gon.  “Once the Vigilante Jedi has been caught.”

“And will the Stygium crystal still be inside that hilt when you return it?” Qui-Gon asked.

Anakin made a face.  “Come on, Master.  Plausible deniability, I can’t answer that.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, suppressing a smile.  _I chose to train him._

“Come on,” he said.  “Let’s put our heads together and see about building this scanner.”


	4. The Question Game, Encore

Padmé smiled at the delivery droid and accepted two sealed containers of Kuati spice meals from its manipulators.  “Thank you.”

It warbled an acknowledgment and rolled away down the corridor, doubtless already calculating the optimal route to its next delivery.

“Technology is marvelous,” Ben commented from where he lounged on the divan, wearing a sleeping robe and little else.  “You don’t even have to speak to someone to get food brought to you.”

Padmé flashed him a frown as she seated herself next to him.  “This isn’t a new development, Ben.”

He idly ran his fingers along the length of her spine.  The feel of his nails through the thin septsilk of her own robe sent a pleasant shiver through her.  “No, it’s not,” Ben agreed.  “I just never grow tired of not having to speak to people.  Most people are draining, selfish, and _boring._ ”

Unsealing her container and inhaling the sharp, fragrant aroma of various spiced meats and greens, Padmé wondered what had put him in this mood.  That revelation about his distaste for people was the most he’d revealed about himself all evening.

Then again, perhaps not.  When he’d let himself in tonight, there’d been a strange energy about him.  The first night they’d spent together had been intense, exciting, a bit rushed in their shared eagerness.  The last two times, he’d taken things more slowly, exploring her, testing her reactions to various applications of his incredibly deft hands and tongue.  She’d also sensed from him more than a little sadistic delight – in the teasing, the carefully measured stimuli, and especially her own desire to touch _him,_ mostly thwarted through the clever application of rope and other restraints.

Tonight, though, had been more like their first time.  He’d arrived abuzz with that odd, nervous energy, and quickly pulled her into the bedroom.  Before, they’d had sex; tonight, Padmé would almost describe the intimacy as lovemaking instead.  He’d held her, as before, but with an urgency absent the previous nights.

Something had happened to him today.

“You still haven’t told me what you do,” she observed.

Ben unsealed his own container before giving her a wry smile.  “I’d rather not say.”

"I know that, but you clearly had something happen today,” Padmé told him.  “And whatever it was, you want to talk about it.”

He snorted gently, picking up his fork.  “No, I want to forget about it and move on.”

Padmé picked up her own fork and speared a piece of dark meat.  “Is that why you’re here tonight?  To forget?”

“No.  I’m here because I enjoy your company.”  Ben grinned.  “And my detailed observations would seem to indicate that you enjoy mine.”

With a slight smile, Padmé replied, “I do.  But let’s make something clear, Ben.  A casual relationship is fine.  Wonderful, even.  We do not have to think about marriage, children, shared bank accounts, media releases, _ever._   I am completely fine with clandestine evening meetings for the kind of sex we’ve been having.  But even a casual relationship is a _relationship._   The mysterious-stranger façade is attractive, but we’re sleeping together.  I want to know more about you than just your bedroom preferences.”

Ben nodded slowly.  “Fair enough.”  He ate a bite of the spice meal, looking contemplative.  “Here’s an idea.  I once played an entertaining game with an enemy.  You ask me a question.  If I answer it, you owe me an answer to a question in turn.  You don’t have to answer a particular question if you don’t want to, but you still owe a response if you pass.”

Padmé finished a bite of the spice meal.  “That sounds interesting,” she said.  “You played it with an enemy?”

“Five years ago.  Now let me think of one.”

She gave him a mock shove.  “That hardly counts as an answer.”

“In point of fact it absolutely does,” he protested.  “Your question was whether I did in fact play this game with an enemy – a simple yes-or-no question.  I answered affirmatively and even went a step further by volunteering free information, namely _when_ I played.  You never asked _who._ ”

Padmé stuck her tongue out at him.  “Fine.  Ask your question, you grump.”

Ben looked soberly at her.  “Have you ever killed anyone?”

The question brought her up short, her laden fork halfway to her mouth.  She stared, wide-eyed, at him.  “Why?”

“That’s not how the game works.”

Blowing out a long breath, Padmé set her fork down.  “Not personally.  When I retook Naboo our only enemies were droids.  But so many of my own people died – in the occupation, and then in the fight to free our planet.”  She closed her eyes.  “They weigh on me.  I didn’t kill them, but they are my responsibility.”

“You hate war as only one who has fought in it can,” Ben said.  “That’s why you oppose the Military Creation Act.”

“Is that a question?” Padmé asked.

“You pick the game up quickly.  No, it isn’t.  It is an observation.”  He began chewing another bite of the spice meal.  “The next question is yours, if you want it.”

Padmé looked him in the eye.  “Did you kill someone today?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately.

“Who?”

“You’ll owe me two answers.”

“Who, Ben?” she demanded.

He sighed.  “A Clawdite bounty hunter and assassin named Zam Wesell.  She had been contracted by Separatist forces to kill you.”

Padmé swallowed.  “Do you –”

“Two answers first, milady Senator,” Ben cut her off.

She glared at him.  “Ben, you _killed_ someone.  Assassin or not, this is serious.”

“So is the game,” Ben argued.  “Do you trust that I want to protect you, Padmé?”

Padmé stopped to consider that.  Over the past few days, there was essentially no way in which she had not been vulnerable with him.  If he had intended her harm – and her instincts told her he did not – he’d had ample opportunity to cause it.  And now he claimed to have killed someone contracted by the Separatists to do away with her.

“I do,” she said carefully.  “Which is _not_ the same as saying I trust _you_.”

“Nor should you.  I will never be able to tell you everything.”  He looked at her intently.  “Do you accept that as a condition of continuing this relationship?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.  “Do you work for Republic Intelligence?”

“No.  Which is not to say I’m unaffiliated with the Republic government.  I operate at the highest possible level.”

“So you _are_ a spy.”

“I’ll confirm that if you count it as a question and therefore owe me two answers.”

She made a face at him.  “Fine.”

“I _am_ a spy,” Ben said, “And I report directly to some very influential people.  That’s all I can say.”

Padmé threw caution aside, needing to know the answer to her next question and unable to wait.  “Are you here to spy on me?”

He raised three fingers in a meaningful way, then spoke.  “No.  Believe it or not, I was at the fundraiser to plant surveillance mites on a few key targets suspected of Separatist collusion.  You are not on that list.  I approached you because – well.”  Ben looked down at his clasped hands, and Padmé was suddenly and intensely aware that this, right here, was _him._   He was showing more of himself right now than he ever had before, because he wanted to convince her he was telling the truth.

“I approached you,” he said, “because I wanted to know you.”

“In what sense?”

“You really are bad at this game,” he teased.  “That’s four.  In every sense.  Personally.  Intellectually.  Sexually.  I was drawn to you.”

“You don’t seem like the love-at-first-sight sort,” Padmé said.  “And _that_ is an observation, before you try to call five.”  Her worries assuaged for the moment – he was indeed dangerous, but at least she understood the call for it now – she picked her fork back up.  “Go on, I’m sure you’re dying to ask your four questions.”

Ben appraised her as she ate some more spice meal.  “My… profession doesn’t concern you?  The fact that I often have to kill people?”

“I’m an idealist, but I’m not blind,” Padmé told him bluntly.  “The Republic wouldn’t function without people like you.  I know that.  You’re certainly not husband material, Ben, but we already agreed that’s not something we need to worry about.  And as for your second question – that _was_ two questions, by the way – well.”  She took a moment to articulate her thoughts, setting her fork back down.  “Killing is inherently wrong.  There’s no compromise on that point.  But sometimes you’re left with no choices but the wrong ones, and you have to pick your poison.”  Laying a hand atop his, she reached her other hand up to caress his chin.  “You certainly couldn’t have enjoyed it, given how it rattled you.”

“Killing doesn’t rattle me,” he said.  “It’s the circumstances.  Your life is in danger.  I would very much prefer you not die.  I’m not used to _caring_ like this.”

Padmé laughed lightly.  “I understand.  Most men are secretly romantics, and it’s a surprise to them when they find out.”

“And what makes you such an authority on men?” Ben asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re not the first one I’ve seen go through this,” Padmé replied wryly.  “One more and we’re even.”

“Do you want to go have more sex after we’ve eaten and let our food settle?”

She grinned.  “Yes.”

* * *

They took their time finishing their meal and watching a holodrama, lazing on the divan together.  It was the latest in the _Jedi Cop_ series, which Padmé found both utterly ridiculous and intensely satisfying to watch.

One guilty-pleasure holodrama and an after-dinner mint liqueur later, Padmé stood and moved to the ’fresher, letting Ben follow her.  She activated the real-water shower – one of the few niceties of her privileged position she genuinely enjoyed – and let her robe puddle on the floor.

He got the hint, disrobing quickly and following her inside.  Padmé manipulated the controls to produce the widest possible spray, ensuring that both of them could enjoy the hot water at once.  She could see the tension visibly flowing out of Ben’s frame as he stood there, luxuriating in the feel of the water flowing over him.

For the first time, admiring his whipcord physique, she noticed something off.  It looked like a warp in his right side, something twisted or broken.  Without thinking, she reached out to lay her fingers against it.

Ben stiffened.  For a split second it seemed as though he might bat her hand away.  Then he visibly forced himself back to calm.  “It’s an old wound,” he said.  “Given to me ten years ago.”

The warp in his ribs was palpable beneath her fingers.  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

“When I sleep on it.”  He shrugged fractionally.  “And when I’m struck in it.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé murmured.  “What happened?”

The obvious retort about the question game ran transparently through his mind, but he just shook his head.  “I don’t like to remember that mission,” he said.  “It did not go well.”

Padmé shrank away from the injury.  “I am so sorry, Ben.”

Another shrug.  “It is what it is.”  His own hand came up to trace a faint scar along the right side of her abdomen, beneath her ribcage.  “What’s _this?_ ”

“Blaster graze,” she said.  “Fighting in Theed’s streets.”

“I take it that it no longer hurts,” he teased.

She smiled at him.  “No.  It doesn’t.”

He traced his fingertips up along her body, trailing past her collarbone and throat to her cheek.  She shivered despite the hot water pouring down on them and gave him a fractional nod.

Ben moved his hand around behind her head, entwining his fingers in her hair, and drew her sharply to him.  He kissed her, hard, pulling her tightly against him.  His free arm caught her in an iron grip around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.  Taking two quick steps, he backed her into the shower wall, pressing her against it firmly but not painfully.  Effectively pinned there, Padmé had no choice but to surrender to his ministrations as he moved his attention from her mouth to her neck.  She shuddered at the feel of his teeth on her throat, hard enough to send a heady rush through her.  Ben was always careful, however, never to leave any marks.

He craned his head back far enough to look her in the eye, and grinned at her as he twitched his hips, just a bit.  She let out a low, quiet moan at the feel of him, _all_ of him, pressing up tantalizingly between her thighs.

“I certainly feel clean enough,” he said mischievously.  “Don’t you?”

Padmé nodded eagerly.  He released his grip on her hair to turn off the shower, then let her out of his grasp completely.  Fresh towels were just outside the shower; Padmé didn’t bother trying to appear unhurried as she snatched one and dried herself.

As they moved into her bedroom, locked in a close embrace, Ben snaked his arms under hers, spun her around, and half-shoved, half-threw her onto the bed.  She landed with a surprised gasp on her stomach, then felt the air rush out of her as he expertly planted a knee on her back, pinning her to the mattress.

She grinned fiercely and fought him, bringing a foot up behind her in a swift kick at his back.  He laughed, catching her by the ankle and putting more pressure on her back, bending her leg at an awkward angle which made her hiss.  “It’s going to be like that?” he asked playfully.  “You know what happened last –”

His taunt cut off midsentence as she twisted violently beneath him, her sudden motion actually throwing him off her and onto the mattress next to her.  She rolled on top of him and pushed his arms down into the bed, one hand on each of his wrists.  “The last time,” she said, “I _let_ you win.”

“Oh, I can’t stand that.”  He broke her hold, reversed, swung her back down underneath him with a roll of his hips.  She tried to stop him, but he had twenty kilos of muscle on her on top of being just as well-trained.

Not to mention that she really didn’t want to stop him.

In a flash he had her wrists in the cuffs they hadn’t bothered to untie from the bedframe last night.  The cuffs were nearly brand-new, having been ordered from a discreet supplier of such things after their first night together.  They were padded, comfortable, and impossible to get out of.  She tested them anyway, giving a sharp tug on them, but she was held fast.

Ben’s body pressed down on hers, and she groaned as she felt him enter her.  He was big – big enough that she’d been a little intimidated, the first time.  By now, however, she knew what to expect, and relished the feel of him as he moved into her.  Padmé arched her back and pulled as hard as she could against the cuffs, delighting in the feeling of restraint, drinking in the sensations of his body moving against hers.

It did not take him long.  His pace accelerated, the force of his movements increased, until he was almost slamming his hips into hers with every thrust, bucking her into the mattress.  Padmé liked to make her partners work for her reactions, but now she was gasping and moaning, the sounds completely beyond her control.

Ben’s entire body went stiff, muscles contracting, as he reached his climax.  He held himself perfectly still for a long moment before he let himself drop, his weight settling on top of her.

“I need you,” he whispered.

Padmé stiffened.  “Ben?”

He sat up, his expression just as shocked as she felt.  “Ah,” he said.  “I – I did not expect to say that.”

She looked at him.  “It’s not a problem, Ben.”

He sat back on his haunches and ran a hand through his hair.  “You mean that?”

“I do.”  Padmé smiled at him.  “Really.”

Ben looked down at her.  “This is new territory for me, Padmé.  I do not – I have never tried anything like this before.  Caring.  A _relationship._   Casual or otherwise.”

“It’s alright, Ben.”  She hesitated, then decided to go for it.  “I need you too.”

The look on his face was one of – relief?  Excitement?  Trepidation?  All of them, she decided.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Padmé told him.  “And now, if you don’t mind…”  She raised an eyebrow and glanced down at herself.

“Oh?  _Oh._ ”  He grinned, the easy, assured confidence suddenly back in place.  “I do apologize, milady Senator.  I have been _very_ lax in my duties.”

Padmé rolled her eyes at him.  “Shut up and make me come,” she growled, “before I have to break out of these cuffs and do it myself.”

He got to work.  And he was, as usual, very good at it.


	5. A Notice of Resignation

The image of Darth Sidious flickered before him.  Venge drew in a deep breath and braced himself to finally speak the words.

“I’m done.”

He couldn’t see Sidious’s face beneath the cowl, but the Sith Lord stiffened.  “What?” he asked, his voice quiet and utterly lethal.

“You heard me,” Venge said evenly.  “I’m done.  Our alliance is over.”

Sidious snarled at him.  “You are a _Sith!_   You have a duty to the Imperative –”

“I am _not_ a Sith,” Venge snapped, cutting him off.  “I am a _tool_ of the Sith.  You never intended me to succeed you.  The Dark Side promises freedom, but I’ve never had a taste of it.  My entire life has consisted of training, of missions to fulfill _your_ ends, and most recently of keeping tabs on Dooku for you and on you for Plagueis.”  He allowed himself a second to enjoy the feeling of shock, however contained, which emanated from Sidious.  “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” he continued with a laugh.  “The entire reason he spared my life ten years ago was so I could spy on you.”

“You worthless, useless _traitor_ –”

“I’d love to hear your full stream of invective, Master – rather, _Sidious,_ as you are no longer my master – but I am confident you are tracing this transmission as we speak, so we have limited time.  A few words more.” 

Venge held up a datapad where Sidious could see it.  “I have spent the last five years recording our conversations and gathering other evidence of your and Plagueis’s true identities, as well as your numerous crimes and plots.  If you kill me, capture me, brainwash me, impede me in any way, this information _will_ go out to every holonews outlet, prominent investigative journalist, Senator, and high-ranking Intelligence officer on Coruscant.  It will also find its way into the hands of the Jedi.  I must admit I’m curious if they would arrest you or simply kill you, but as this is my insurance, I’ll forgo the chance to find out.”

Sidious leaned forward, letting his eyes emerge from the shadows of his cowl.  “You ungrateful piece of sentient trash,” he hissed.  “Threaten whatever repercussions you wish.  Someday you _will_ see us again, and on that day you will die.  Slowly, and horribly.”

Venge grinned.  “I expect nothing less.”  He held his right index finger aloft.  “One last thing.  Senator Padmé Amidala.  She’s under my protection.  If _she_ is harmed or interfered with, the information goes out.”

“How adorable,” Sidious drawled.  “You turn out to be a soft-hearted romantic.”

“Call it what you like.  The threat stands.  It includes trying to reveal certain details about me to her, in person or through third parties.  Do you understand?”

Sidious hissed again.  “I understand, my former apprentice.  And I will not forget this.”

With a shrug, followed by a mocking wave, Venge cut the transmission.

He left the holocomm unit where it was.  Moving quickly, he exited the abandoned office building he’d chosen to stage this declaration.  Pulling the cowl of his robe up, Venge stepped out into the street and disappeared into the flow of the crowd.

He pulled out his commlink and quickly issued the two dozen commands, messages, codes, and other signals necessary to keep his various delivery mechanisms from exposing the Supreme Chancellors for the next Coruscant day.  He had prepared many ways to send these signals, anticipating that he could lose comm access due to unexpected events, but his personal commlink was the most efficient way to do it.

Venge took a deep breath of the polluted, clammy Coruscant air.  It was just as foul as it had been on the way into the abandoned building, but it seemed almost refreshing now.  The taste of victory was on his tongue.

He was _free._

For the first time, he was the sole arbiter of his own fate.  There was no Dark Lord waiting to receive his report, no mission, no expectations, no Imperative.

What should he do to celebrate?

Padmé was not due back at her apartment for another four hours at least.  That gave him some time to kill.  He keyed a particular frequency on his commlink and waited until his contact picked up.  “This is Tachi.”

“It’s Ben,” he said.  “Do you have another target for me?”

The woman on the other end didn’t hesitate.  “A Rodian mercenary was recently caught on holo shooting down an entire speederbus to get to one target.  Name of Qorian.”  She paused.  “Six children died on that bus.”

Venge rested his free hand on the Stygium lightsaber concealed at his hip.

“They’ll have their vengeance,” he promised.


	6. A Troubling Development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I am specifically tagging this chapter with a content warning for human trafficking. There is nothing explicitly sexual or nonconsensual, but there is a character in the third scene of the chapter who is being trafficked and her abuser is present. If this is a trigger for you, I am more than happy to send you a quick summary of the events of the chapter so you can continue with the story without having to engage with this specific part of the text. Thank you.

According to Siri, Qorian had been sighted multiple times in the past several days at a dive cantina and bounty hunter congregation spot just outside the Flats.  Its name in Huttese derived from an idiomatic expression about Hutt reproduction; locals who spoke Basic tended to just call it The Bog.

Venge strode in the front door, ignited his Stygium lightsaber, and said, “I’m here for Qorian.”

On the other side of The Bog, a Rodian stumbled out of his chair and bolted for the kitchens.  Venge leapt after him, the crowd of scoundrels parting before him like a foul-smelling curtain.

Qorian bowled over the chef and two servers in his desperate flight through the small, cramped, grease-stained kitchen.  He pulled a compact blaster from a hip holster and fired over his shoulder as he ran.  Most of the shots were hurried and not remotely close; Venge casually deflected the one good bolt into the ceiling, where it destroyed a light fixture in a shower of brilliant sparks.

The Rodian threw open the rear door and flung himself through it into the alley behind The Bog.  Venge took a long stride out the door and caught Qorian in a Force grip, picking the screaming bounty hunter up off his feet and hurling him three meters up onto the roof.  He leapt after his prey, landing easily next to him, lightsaber ready.

“You wait!” Qorian shrieked, waving a sucker-tipped hand at Venge.  “You stop!  I pay you!”

“Will you pay the families of the innocents you killed on the speederbus?” Venge asked him.  “Will you pay the relatives of the six children you murdered to take out one man?”

“It business!” Qorian exclaimed.  “Man have big bounty!  I share!”

“No excuse whatsoever,” Venge laughed.  “You’re pathetic.  And your time is up.”

Qorian snapped the blaster up in an attempt to shoot Venge in the gut, but he was nowhere near fast enough to overcome Force reflexes.  Venge slashed the blaster in half, taking off the tips of Qorian’s fingers as well.  The Rodian howled and clutched at his wounded hand, then went stiff as Venge pressed him flat, limbs splayed, with the Force.

“You know how I might describe someone like you, Qorian?” Venge asked, twirling his lightsaber in quick and lethal arcs.  “A _butcher._ ”

The Rodian’s screams pierced the night.

* * *

Venge had just finished putting in the usual anonymous tip to the Coruscant police so they could come pick up their branded and unconscious gift when he sensed a presence in the Force.  One he hadn’t felt since Fondor.

Anakin Skywalker landed heavily on the roof, dropping from an open-topped speeder he’d left floating above them.  His lightsaber, the same hue as Venge’s, blazed to life in his right hand.  In his left he held an odd device which resembled a weapons-detector wand, but bore signs of heavy modification.  He returned it to his belt as he landed.

“The Vigilante Jedi, I presume,” he said darkly.  “We’ve finally caught you.”

Venge chuckled dryly.  “‘We?’  I see one Padawan here.  Where’s Master Qui-Gon?  Where’s Maul?”

Anakin stiffened.  “We split up to cover more ground.  How do you –”

“And naturally you were told _not_ to engage me if you found me, but you decided to anyway?”

“Tell me who you are,” Anakin demanded, his evasion of Venge’s question an answer enough by itself.

Venge shrugged.  “Fine.”  He reached his free hand up to pull back his hood.

A look of shocked recognition took hold of Anakin’s features.  “You’re the Sith from Fondor!”

“Venge,” he said.  “Yes.  A pleasure.  Though as of two hours ago I’m no longer a Sith.”

He’d thought Anakin couldn’t look more shocked.  He’d been wrong.  The Padawan’s eyes practically bulged.  “You’re lying.”

“I’ll be more than happy to restate it in front of Maul.  I hear he’s become quite the accomplished Truthsayer.”

Anakin brought his lightsaber up into a formal en-garde position.  “How do you know all this?”

“The answer’s simple, though I’ll give you the credit of admitting it’s not exactly obvious.  I’m working with someone inside the Jedi Order.”

Venge almost felt sorry for the boy.  He was so clearly confused, baffled even.  He’d never been properly equipped to deal with this kind of news.

“One of us has fallen to the Dark Side?” Anakin finally managed to ask.

Venge scowled.  “You don’t have to go Dark to want to see real, proper justice meted out to scum like this.  Scum who destroy speederbuses to kill just one person.  Who consider six children acceptable collateral damage.”

The rage was like two coals burning behind Anakin’s eyes as the boy glanced at the unconscious Rodian.  Venge was impressed.  Anakin had _power._   Raw, elemental, unshaped, but so much that it hardly mattered.  If this came to a fight, it would be an interesting one.

“It’s still my job to take you in,” Anakin forced out.

“By all means,” Venge said, deactivating his lightsaber.  “Take me in.  Claim the glory.  Impress your friend the Chancellor.”  Anakin stiffened again at that, but Venge pressed on.  “Just let me take care of one more thing.”

“Don’t even think about –”

“His name is Rugar Konto,” Venge said smoothly.  “He’s a Falleen who specializes in using his pheromonal gifts to seduce young, poor girls.  Then he addicts them to spice for good measure and begins prostituting them to his friends in the Senate until he gets bored and finds a new mark.  At that point he takes his time killing his current ‘ward,’ or he lets one of his clients do it in exchange for extra money.”  He grinned.  “I was going to pay him a visit tonight; he usually does business around this time.

“Are you coming?”

Anakin stared at him.  “You want me to –”

“Help me catch him in the act and free whatever girl he has his claws in at the moment,” Venge finished for him.  He narrowed his eyes, deciding to act on a hunch.  “Help me free her from slavery.”

The blue blade of Anakin’s saber shrank to nothing.  He looked Venge in the eye.

“Show me.”

* * *

Senator Zaver of Ord Mantell clearly had expensive tastes, Anakin noted darkly.  The man’s apartment was a study in extravagance.  Art objects, tapestries, fine rugs, furniture made from rare wood.

But there were expensive tastes, and there were illegal ones.  Such as the dark-haired, pale-skinned, fourteen-year-old human girl standing in the Senator’s receiving room, wearing a dress that would not look out of place at a Senatorial function.  She looked absent, not entirely aware of her surroundings.  The Falleen standing next to her, one green-scaled hand placed on her shoulder, was almost twice as tall as she was.

“So,” Venge whispered from their perch atop the skylight of Senator Zaver’s penthouse suite.  “How would you like to do this?”

“We break in, restrain Konto and Zaver, and call the police,” Anakin replied automatically.  “They get here, see what’s going on, and I make sure that they both go down for this.”

“An interesting proposition,” the Sith – or former Sith, Anakin still wasn’t sure what to think about the man’s claim – said.  “Allow me to offer a counter-proposal.”

Anakin felt the Force surge an instant before Venge blew in the skylight, raining transparisteel shards on the Senator as he moved deeper into his apartment, Konto and the girl several steps behind him.  Venge was only moments behind the deadly rain, landing in a half-crouch on the plush carpet below.

Senator Zaver was on the ground, screaming, transparisteel slivers protruding from dozens of places on his body.  Konto was swearing loudly in his native tongue, darting a hand into his elaborate and colorful vest for the weapon he doubtless kept there.  Throughout everything the girl just stood next to him, eyes blank.

With a snarl, Anakin leapt down after Venge.  He landed on top of Konto as the Falleen drew a disruptor pistol, knocking the tall reptilian alien to the floor.  The bastard rolled with the impact, demonstrating combat training – much to Anakin’s surprise.  Konto leapt to his feet, hands clenched into fists, and threw a fast jab at Anakin’s throat.  He slapped the blow aside with the hilt of his inactive lightsaber, then thumbed the blade to life.  He brought the point to just beneath Konto’s chin.

“Don’t move,” he said.

The Falleen unclenched his fists and raised his hands above his head.  Anakin risked a glance over at Venge and Senator Zaver.

He was just in time to see Venge brutally club the screaming Senator over the head, bouncing the man’s skull against the carpet and knocking him out.  Then he activated his blade and rolled the Senator onto his back with the Force.

Anakin felt his gut tighten.  “Venge?”

“What are we thinking?” Venge asked casually.  “ _Predator_ has a nice ring to it, but _pedophile_ actually describes his crime.”

“We have Konto,” Anakin said.  “And a witness.  There’s no need.”

Venge snorted.  “Take a look at your witness.”

Anakin looked back in the direction of the girl and realized, with a jolt, that she had leveled a small holdout blaster at him.

“Let him go,” she said, her voice quavering.

“This is your first time dealing with a Falleen, isn’t it?” Venge asked.  “She really thinks she’s in love with him, Anakin.  She thinks she’s helping him.”

“Let him go!” she repeated.

Anakin swallowed.  “What’s your name?” he asked, not removing his lightsaber from Konto’s throat.  “I’m not going to hurt him.  Just tell me your name.”

She looked at him, green eyes wide and frightened.  “Zann.”

“Zann, my name is Anakin,” he said.  “I’m a Jedi.  I’m here to help you.”

“You’re not helping,” Zann said bluntly.  “And your friend’s wrong.  I don’t _think_ I’m in love with Rugar.  I _am._   He found me, he helped me.”

“Oh, _dear,_ ” Venge sighed.  “How are the police going to help here, Anakin?  What are the Jedi going to do?”

“He’s not helping you,” Anakin said, trying to keep his voice level.  “He’s using you.  He’s done this before, with other girls.”

“How _dare_ you,” Konto spoke up, his voice deep and sonorous.

Anakin snapped his gaze back to the Falleen.  “One more word and I cut your kriffing throat.”

“Let him GO!” Zann screamed.

The blaster was suddenly ripped from her grip, flying across the room.  Venge sliced it neatly in half as it flew at him.  “Enough,” he said.  “Move, Anakin.”

Zann screamed again, this time incoherently, and rushed at Anakin.  He deactivated his lightsaber, returning it to his belt in one smooth motion, and caught her, grabbing her wrists and keeping her at arm’s length.  He heard a whisper of movement to his right, knew that Konto was going to attack him.

Venge put a stop to that.  He slammed into the Falleen with a flying kick, knocking him to the ground, and kicked him again, right in the ribs, when Konto tried to rise.  Zann screamed a third time and tried to wrench herself out of Anakin’s grip, but he held fast.

“Watch closely,” Venge said, raising his lightsaber.  “This is how we’re going to help her.”

Anakin winced as Venge carved a long, lazy furrow down Konto’s side.  The Falleen roared in pain and tried a snap kick, but Venge twitched and all the toes on that foot were suddenly gone.

“How many other girls did you ‘rescue,’ Konto?” Venge asked.  “What number is Zann?”

“My friends,” Konto gasped, “will find and kill you for this.”

“Wrong answer.”  Venge carved another furrow in the Falleen with his lightsaber, this time down his back.  Anakin watched, gut churning, keeping a firm grip on Zann.  She was weeping now, sobbing piteously as she tried to break his hold.  “How many others, Konto?” Venge asked.  “This can end right now if you just tell the truth.”  He held the thrumming point of his Stygium blade up to the Falleen’s right eye.  “Or I can start causing permanent damage.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Konto hissed.  “You’re a Jedi.”

A chill crawled down Anakin’s spine as Venge laughed.

“Oh, Konto.  That was the wrong thing to say.”

Now the Falleen screamed, long and horribly, as Venge gently pressed his blade into his victim’s right eye socket.

“NINE!” Konto finally shrieked.  “THERE WERE NINE OTHERS!”

Anakin felt Zann go very still in his grasp.

“Their names,” Venge said, withdrawing his saber.  “What were they?”

Konto lay there, gasping from the pain, his ruined eye socket smoking.  “I don’t remember,” he rasped.

“Zann,” Venge said.  “Was she going to survive the evening with the Senator?”

“No,” the Falleen croaked.  “She wasn’t.”

“Does she mean _anything_ to you?” Venge asked.  “Answer honestly.”

Konto sighed, almost inaudibly.  “No.”

A red fog fell across Anakin’s vision.  “You kriffing scum,” he heard himself say.  “She was nothing but a slave to you.”  He felt Zann tremble in his arms.

“Shall we still call the police and arrest him?” Venge asked.  “Or shall I give him _justice_ , Anakin?  The only justice his kind deserves?”

He looked down at the girl, now pressed against him, weeping silently into his chest.  Her pain was like a raw wound in the Force, her shock and feelings of betrayal like a knife cutting slowly through his gut.

“Kill him,” Anakin said.

Venge’s lightsaber thrummed angrily.


	7. Conversations Over Caf

The Five Brothers was a Corellian diner and one of Qui-Gon’s favorite places to have breakfast after a long night’s stakeout.  Their caf was second only to the Force in its ability to keep a Jedi on their feet.

The big Jedi Master settled himself into his usual booth, ordered his caf, and waited with a datapad in hand.  They would be here soon.

Maul was the first to arrive, drawing stares from some of the patrons but going largely ignored by the regulars.  He sat opposite Qui-Gon with a nod.  “Master.”

“Take a look at this morning’s top story,” Qui-Gon said without preamble, handing over the datapad.  Maul scanned it, yellow eyes widening just slightly.

“Interesting.”

“Quite.”  Qui-Gon took a sip of caf.  “I look forward to hearing the full account.”

Maul nodded in agreement as he handed back the datapad.  “If nothing else, this is progress.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed sagely.  “It remains to be seen in which direction.”

It did not take Anakin much longer to arrive.  The lanky Padawan entered, strode smoothly to the booth, and pulled up a chair.  He settled at the end of the table between Qui-Gon and Maul.  “Morning,” he said, sounding more than a little fatigued.

“Yes, it is,” Qui-Gon said.  “You may find this interesting.  From HNN: ‘Senator Zaver exposed!  Vigilante Jedi and new accomplice bust him with underage prostitute and her handler!’”  He put the datapad down.  “So, how did your part of the search go last night?”

Anakin grimaced.  He shot a guilty look at Maul before fixing his eyes on the table in front of him.  “It’s Venge,” he said.  “The Vigilante Jedi is Venge.”

“So he is still alive,” Maul murmured.

“And he told me he’s not a Sith anymore.  He said he quit.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “Could you tell if he was being honest?”

“No.  He’s impossible for me to read.  But he said he’d say it again in front of Maul.  He knows you’ve become a Truthsayer.”

“How?” Maul asked.  “It is not common knowledge outside the Order.”

“Because he’s working with someone on the inside.”  Anakin looked pained.  “He said that whoever it was hasn’t Fallen, but they’re still working with him.  Giving him intel.”

“It sounds as though you had an interesting night.”  Qui-Gon appraised the young man closely.  “Tell me about the confrontation in the Senator’s apartment.”

The guilt returned to Anakin’s eyes.  “The Falleen, Konto, was a monster,” he said quietly.  “Zann was the tenth girl he’d – well, you read the story.  And when Venge asked what we should do, she was sobbing, and shaking, and she was so hurt, and –”

“You killed him?” Qui-Gon asked calmly.  He kept his tone and his Force presence neutral, avoiding judgment.  The last thing Anakin needed right now was to feel like Qui-Gon was upset with him; he was clearly upset enough with himself.

Anakin shook his head.  “I might as well have.  Venge did – but I told him to do it.”  He rested his head in his hands.

“I understand the Senator was gravely wounded, but unbranded,” Qui-Gon said.  “Unlike the Rodian bounty hunter picked up outside the Flats with ‘butcher’ on his chest.”

“I got to the Rodian right after Venge did.  The Senator, Venge did that too.  I stopped him from doing more.  I said we’d done enough, that we couldn’t stay.  Then I took Zann to the police.  I didn’t let anyone remember who I was.  I was afraid they’d link me back to Venge and things would look even worse for the Order.”

“Good,” Maul said bluntly.  “Damage control.  It could have been much worse.”

Qui-Gon placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.  “Why did you go with Venge?” he asked gently, not bothering to question Anakin’s decision to approach him alone in the first place.  _That_ answer he already knew.

“He asked me to help free whoever Konto had enslaved,” Anakin sighed.

“And naturally you stopped thinking rationally at that point,” Maul said.

Anakin gave him a hurt look.  “No!  I mean, well, yes, kind of.  But –” he looked at Qui-Gon – “how many times have you told _both_ of us to feel the Living Force, not to think or worry too much?  I _felt_ like I needed to go with him.”  He turned back to Maul.  “Just like you _felt_ like you had to let him go on Fondor.”

“All right,” Qui-Gon said, letting his hand fall away.  “We know his identity.  We know he claims to no longer work for the Sith, though he certainly still uses their methods.”  He leaned back in his seat and sipped more caf.  “What do we do now?”

His protégés stared at him.  “You don’t know?” Anakin asked, seemingly baffled by the idea.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“When we find him again, we need to extract the identity of the other Sith,” Maul said.  “If he’s willing, it will be easy.  If he is not, we capture him and negotiate a deal.”

“But we do not capture him on the principle that he is still a practitioner of the Dark Side, Sith or no?” Qui-Gon asked.

Anakin spoke to that.  “Master, I know the Dark Side is dangerous and forbidden for good reason, and that Venge’s methods are harsh –”

“But you think he’s doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” Anakin said flatly.  “The scum he hits would never see justice.  They’re too far off the grid, or too well-protected, for the system to work.  I’ve been in the Order for ten years now, and he’s the first Force user of _any_ kind that I’ve seen do _something_ about the Republic’s slavery problem.”

The unspoken accusation was there.  The nature of their departure from Tatooine – frenzied, cautious, and as quick as possible – had obfuscated the fact that Qui-Gon had been ready to separate Anakin from Shmi before Venge had killed Watto.  But Anakin knew it.  They’d never discussed it, but Qui-Gon not having planned to free Shmi was perhaps the one thing that truly lay between them.

“Venge can do this,” Qui-Gon said carefully, “because – if we take him at his word – he has no ties or obligations to anyone.  He is free to determine his own destiny.  But _we_ are Jedi.  We have a duty to the Republic and to the Order.”

“And what is the Republic?” Anakin countered.  “Nothing without the trillions of people living under it.  Our duty should be to _them,_ not the _institution!_ ”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “You know I agree with you in principle, Anakin.  But often our missions as Jedi call for us to uphold the institution first, because in the end it is what saves the most lives, flawed as it is.  Sometimes we must overlook the individual.”

“You pick up waifs and strays all the time!”

“Not at the expense of the mission.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that Bumblebinks didn’t make the _mission_ harder.”

“Jar Jar proved instrumental in recruiting the Gungan army in the retaking of Naboo,” Qui-Gon reminded him gently.  “And let us not forget you were also in some sense a ‘waif’ when I met you, Anakin, but you destroyed the droid control ship over Naboo and saved all our lives.”

His Padawan glared daggers at him.  “Your ‘mission’ and ‘duty’ is what made you almost leave Mom on Tatooine,” he growled.  “Venge did me a favor when he killed Watto.”

Qui-Gon took a deep breath, readying himself.  He’d known this confrontation was inevitable, and it seemed like it was going to happen now.  He just wished he’d had more caf.

His commlink chirped.

The three of them sat there for a moment, listening to it, before Maul floated it off of Qui-Gon’s belt and answered it.  “This is Qui-Gon,” he said, doing a poor imitation of his former Master’s voice.  It only cut the tension a little bit, but Qui-Gon still felt himself relax.  When Maul was the one trying humor, things were very bad indeed.

“Changed your voice, you have, Qui-Gon,” Yoda’s distinctive cackle came through the comm.  “Nearby, he must be.  And young Skywalker?”

Anakin – who had not relaxed a single iota – gave Qui-Gon a look that clearly said, _we are not done with this conversation._   “We’re all here, Master,” he said.  “What’s going on?”

“Talked, the assassin who tried to kill Representative Elessan’ra has,” Yoda said.  “Information he has given us about his employer.  With this information, discover we did that another assassin was hired.  To kill Senator Padmé Amidala.”

That made Anakin surge halfway to his feet before he remembered himself and forced himself to sit back down.  “Padmé’s in danger?  We have to go warn her!”

“Impatient you are, young Skywalker,” Yoda chastised him.  “The assassin, Zam Wesell, we found dead.  In a trash compactor.”

“How?” Qui-Gon asked, more than a little confused.

“Traced her commlink with the information from the first assassin, we did.  And killed by the compactor, she was not.  By a lightsaber, she was killed.”  A pause.  “A Stygium lightsaber.”

“The Vigilante Jedi,” Maul said, shooting Anakin a warning glance.  Anakin nodded.  He clearly understood that their information about Venge needed to remain between them until they decided what to do with it.

“Strange, it is, that the Vigilante Jedi should break their pattern with this assassin,” Yoda observed.  “Hidden, the corpse was.  No marks, it had.  Suggests that the Vigilante Jedi may have some link to Senator Amidala, this does.”

Anakin looked like he wanted to disagree, but Qui-Gon silenced him with a look.  “I agree, Master.  We will go and speak to the Senator immediately.”

“Use your best judgment, you should, Qui-Gon,” Yoda directed him.  “Unrelated, this may be.  But any lead on the Vigilante Jedi, we must pursue.”

“Understood, Master.  Qui-Gon out.”  He nodded at Maul, who cut the transmission before handing the commlink back.  “The Senate convenes in two hours,” Qui-Gon said.  “If we go immediately, we can get to the Senator’s apartment before she leaves for the day.”

“You don’t really think Padmé has anything to do with Venge, do you?” Anakin protested.

“Not necessarily, no.  But Yoda asked us to investigate, and so we shall.”  Qui-Gon shrugged.  “If nothing else, we should inform her she was targeted for assassination and should take additional security precautions.”  He shot Anakin another glance.  “We will finish our conversation later.  For now – will you be alright, seeing Padmé again after all this time?”

Anakin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “Of course.  I mean – of course.”

Qui-Gon hid his smile.  His Padawan was not particularly skilled at hiding his feelings, and Qui-Gon had never encouraged him to cultivate the ability.  His emotions were a part of him, and to reject them in deference to the Jedi tradition would be dangerous.  Certainly it might be a little disorienting, seeing a childhood crush after so many years, but he was confident Anakin would adapt.

“Good,” he said briskly.  “Let’s go, then.  After all, the Senator doubtless has little time for guests.  Especially ones without an appointment.”


	8. Revelations and Recriminations

Padmé, after ten minutes, finally got her hair secured in the elaborate high bun she wore in the Senate.  She usually had someone to help with the process, but she’d dismissed her various handmaidens last night when Ben had called.  She would rather have absolute privacy than an easier time getting ready in the morning.

Strictly speaking, there _was_ someone who could help, but he was busy making caf.  And considering the generally mussy state of his hair, Padmé doubted Ben knew or cared much about the art of coiffure.

She stood, checked her reflection one last time, and moved to the living and kitchen area of her suite.  Ben was waiting at the kitchen island, sipping from his own mug and reading a datapad.  He looked up at her approach and smiled.  “Aren’t we all dressed up.”

Padmé gave him a wry smile.  “Requirement of the job.  You know that.”

“Or you could call in sick.”  He showed her the story displayed on the datapad.  “The Corellian Flu is making the rounds.  Symptoms include palpitations, perspiration, and fatigue.”  With a grin, Ben arched an eyebrow at her.  “I think we could induce those.”

That made her snort – not what Sio Bibble would have called a ‘queenly mannerism,’ but Ben had seen her do so very many unqueenly things now that she didn’t care.  “The symptoms _also_ include vomiting, high fever, gastrointestinal distress, and death,” she pointed out.

His grin faded a bit.  “Yes, but those didn’t work for the gambit I was using.”

Smiling, Padmé laid her hand on his.  “I wish we lived in times that let me just blow off the Senate, Ben.  But the Loyalist Committee needs me.  And I _do_ have some feelings about the moral and ethical implications of not performing my appointed duties in favor of staying home to have sex.”

Ben laughed.  “Even the really good sort?”

“Even that.”  Padmé stepped in close to Ben, angling her face up to kiss him.  He took his caf dark, which was not to her taste, but she didn’t care.  She wanted to enjoy this time, before the real world intruded.

Naturally, the door chimed.

Padmé broke the kiss and started to move toward the door.  Ben caught her arm.  “Must you?”

“Whoever it is, they passed several security checks to get here,” Padmé said gently.  “You don’t go through that unless it’s important.”

“Oh, fine.  Be the responsible Senator.  If you weren’t I doubt I would find you so alluring.”

She felt herself blush, which still irritated her – even with him she should have better control.  Moving to the door, she took a moment to compose herself before checking the cam feed.

Three Jedi stood outside.  Two were very familiar.  Surprised and a little delighted, Padmé triggered the door release.  They were Jedi; they could be discreet about her having a gentleman caller.

The door slid smoothly open.  Padmé beamed at the large, human man standing directly outside.  “Master Qui-Gon!  It’s been too long.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to reply, but then his eyes fixed on something behind her and went wide.

She heard Ben say, “Shit.”

* * *

Qui-Gon didn’t hesitate.  He hurled himself into Padmé, dropping both of them to the floor and using the Force to cushion their fall.  He felt Maul and Anakin spring over him, heard the snap-hiss of their lightsabers as they drew.  Padmé was flailing beneath him, surprised rather than hurt.  He rolled deftly off of her, threw himself to his feet, and drew his own blade as he interposed himself between her and Venge.

For his part, Venge had leapt into a corner of the kitchen and produced a large cleaver in one hand and steak knife in the other.  The cutlery was no match for a lightsaber, but Qui-Gon knew the Sith could easily kill all of them with it if they let their guard down.

“So much for justice!” Anakin yelled.  “You’re here to kill Padmé!”

“Ridiculous,” Venge said.  “You know as well as I do that she’s one of the few good people in the Senate.  I’m _protecting_ her.”

“Truth,” Maul said, and Qui-Gon saw him hold out a hand, signaling Anakin to calm himself.  “He’s telling the truth.”

“Five years and you still aren’t sure if everything I told you on Fondor was the truth,” Venge laughed.  “Did you become a Truthsayer to try to figure me out, or so you couldn’t lie to _yourself?_ ”

“Your Dun Möch is still excellent,” Maul observed.  “Small wonder you convinced Anakin to help you expose Zaver and murder Konto.”

“STOP!”

Qui-Gon turned to see Padmé, back on her feet, her hair in wild disarray.  She pulled the ornate metal rings out and let them fall to the ground, her gaze flicking between the three Jedi and Venge.  Her expression was one of shock and fear.  “Just stop, everyone!  What in the nine Hells is going on?”

Qui-Gon spoke before anyone else could.  “Who do you think the man in your kitchen is?”

Padmé stared at him.  “His name is Ben.  He’s a Republic spy.”

Turning back to Venge, Qui-Gon said, “Well, then.  ‘Ben.’  Is there something you want to tell Padmé before we are forced to?”

The young woman from Naboo looked at Venge.

With a sigh, he put the cleaver and steak knife down on the counter.  “Turn off the lightsabers,” he said.  “I’d rather not have to talk over them.”

Both Anakin and Maul glanced at Qui-Gon; he nodded.  Reluctantly, they shut the energy weapons off.  Qui-Gon extinguished his own blade as well.

Moving with deliberate caution, Venge stepped past Anakin – who looked as though he wanted to throttle the other man with his bare hands – and came to stand in front of Padmé.  “My surname,” he said, “is Kenobi.  My Master never told me what my given name was, if I had one; Ben is just a name I thought was common and inoffensive, good for an alias. For the last thirty-five years, until only last night, I served the secret order of the Sith Lords.

“My _true_ name is Venge.”

Qui-Gon took a step back so he could watch both of them at once.  The Force was pulsing with powerful emotions: Anakin’s fury and confusion, Padmé’s shock and fear, Venge’s desperation and – _hope,_ that was it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Padmé asked after a long, horrible moment of silence.  Her voice was cold, controlled.

Venge ran a hand through his hair.  “The Sith are, by any practical definition, evil.  _I_ am, by any practical definition, evil.  After the first night, when I realized I wanted to see you again, I knew that someone – someone as _good_ as you could never want a Sith.”  He straightened, seemed to brace himself.  “But when I told you I need you, and you said you need me too, I thought – I thought perhaps this could be me.  Ben.  If I were no longer a Sith, I might actually be the person you need.”

Qui-Gon glanced at Maul, who nodded fractionally.

“You were on Naboo ten years ago,” Padmé said.  It wasn’t a question.  “It was you in the throne room.  You killed Captain Panaka to try to force me to sign a treaty dooming my world to foreign occupation.  You _would_ have killed Sabé if Anakin hadn’t destroyed the droid control ship at the right time.”

“I told you I am evil,” Venge said with a marginal shrug.  “For what it’s worth – and I suspect it’s worth nothing, at this point, but I will say it so our resident Truthsayer can confirm it – I _do_ regret that encounter.”

“Why?” Padmé asked, her voice rising.  “Because his blood is on your hands?  Or because you know I think killing is wrong, and you desperately want me to somehow be understanding, to be _fine_ with the truth you’re telling me?”

Venge shook his head.  “You told me, when we played the question game, that every person who died in the occupation of Naboo, or during the fight to free it – that you consider _their_ blood to be on _your_ hands.  I regret that I put Panaka’s blood on your hands, Padmé.  I regret making you a murderer.”

Another nod from Maul.

“I did say that.  But _you’re_ the one who killed him, _Venge._   You’re the one who cut his head off, and then had the gall to say that it was my _intent_ that murdered him.”  Padmé glared at him.  “Don’t try to deflect this.”

Venge raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but said nothing.

Nobody spoke for a long minute.  Finally, Anakin spoke up.  “Where’s your lightsaber?  The Stygium one?”

“The fifth drawer down in Padmé’s dresser.  But I’d not recommend you go searching.  There are a number of… personal items in there that I doubt she’d care for you to see.”

Qui-Gon touched Anakin with the Force.  _Stay calm.  This situation does not have to turn violent._

“A Stygium lightsaber?” Padmé asked.  “What?”

“Is there anything else you want to tell Padmé?” Qui-Gon asked.

Venge shrugged.  “Considering that I am officially eye-deep in bantha shit, why not.  I am also the Vigilante Jedi.  My former Master conceived of the idea to sow doubts about the Order, but after I started hunting down scum I realized I enjoyed delivering righteous justice.  I think I’ve taken the character further than he ever intended, but I suppose that’s what happens when you truly inhabit a role.”

Without a word, Padmé stormed past Venge into her bedroom.  A few moments later she returned, a lightsaber in her hand.  She thumbed it on, the blue blade blazing forth.

“What should your word be?” Padmé asked.  “The one the Vigilante Jedi would burn into your chest?  ‘Liar?’  ‘Killer?’  Maybe just ‘Sith?’”

Maul took four quick steps to place himself between her and Venge.  “He has not lied to you.  I can sense it.”

“Lies of omission are still lies!” Padmé snapped.  “He murdered one of my loyal officers, one of my _friends,_ and didn’t think to mention that before he talked his way into my bed!  Move!”

“So you can do what?  Kill him?  You are not a murderer.”

Qui-Gon felt Anakin’s desire to speak, to intervene, but he silenced his Padawan with a Force nudge.

“He _made_ me a murderer!” Padmé snarled.  Tears were beginning to fall from her eyes, but her expression was pure, furious intensity.  “He killed one of my people because I couldn’t bend, because I had to weigh the life of a single person against my entire world!  So I _am_ a murderer, Maul.  I’m a killer by inaction.”

Maul took a long, deliberate step forward, placing his body a bare inch from the end of the lightsaber.

“Lie,” he said.

Padmé blinked, the movement spilling more tears down her face.  “What?”

“That is a lie,” Maul said.  “You are not a murderer.”

“How can you say that it’s a lie?  I –”

“Because I know what being a murderer is.  I am one.”  Maul crossed his arms.  “I can kill without remorse or hesitation.  I am a Jedi, and if I have to kill one being to save two others I will do it in an instant, because that is a Jedi’s duty.  But what separates me, what makes me a murderer, is that I enjoy it.  I only kill when I must, but there is a part of me that relishes the opportunity.  It is a part I have learned to control, to be at peace with.  But it is always there.”

He gestured at the lightsaber in Padmé’s grip.  “So if you truly intend to kill him, kill me first.  Then you will know you _are_ a murderer.  Because a murderer will say, I had to kill him to do what was necessary.  I had no choice.  But in their heart of hearts, they will know they enjoyed it.  The excuse was all they needed.”

Qui-Gon waited.  The Force told him his former apprentice was in no danger.  Padmé was furious, and lost, but she was not, as Maul said, a murderer.

The Stygium lightsaber hissed as Padmé deactivated the blade.

“Bedroom,” she said to Venge.  “Now.”  She looked at Qui-Gon.  “The three of you, wait here.  And if any of you eavesdrop, I assume he’ll know.  And tell me.  So don’t do it.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “We will be here when you are done.”

She disappeared into the bedroom.  Venge followed, closing the doors behind him.

“This was not how I imagined meeting Padmé again,” Anakin said.


	9. Several Conversations

The first thing Padmé did was point at the bed.  “Sit,” she said.

Without a word, Ben – no, not Ben, _Venge_ – did so.

“You were telling the truth out there?” Padmé asked, folding one arm across her chest to grasp the other.  His lightsaber was heavy in her hand.

“I was.”

“You left the Sith last night to be with me?”

Venge shifted uncomfortably.  “Partially.  I had wanted to for – for a _very_ long time.  I’d been making preparations for years, but wasn’t certain I’d ever actually go through with it.  Meeting you, _knowing_ you, was what pushed me to take the final step.”

Padmé nodded.  “Because you saw the chance to be the person I needed?”

“To be _a_ person.  To be someone outside the role of ‘Sith tool.’  I realized it was possible.  Being a person someone like you might need – that was a bonus.”

“When you claimed to be protecting me, what did you mean?”

Spreading his hands, Venge replied, “Those preparations I mentioned?  I recorded conversations, gathered proof, put various mechanisms into play to disseminate my findings if I were killed or captured.  If the Sith come after me, I reveal it all.  Identities, plans, crimes, everything.”  He quirked a smile.  “And I set an additional condition.  If you are threatened, hurt, killed, I release it all and damn the consequences.”

Padmé felt her heart thudding in her chest.  “You said that?”

“Yes.  Shall we call in the Zabrak lie detector standing outside?”

“No.  I believe you.”  She took a deep breath.  “You actually – you do care.”

“Yes.”

“You understand that this doesn’t make things right between us,” she warned him.  “You still abused my trust and killed one of my men, to say nothing of your role in the occupation of Naboo.”

“I know.”  Venge shrugged.  “Do what you need to, Padmé.  I will not change my threat to the Sith.  You will be under my protection as long as I can offer it.  I owe you that much.”

Padmé chewed at her lower lip, thinking intently.  Part of her – a large part of her – wanted to forgive him.  He had said little about his life as a Sith, but she could read between the lines.  A hollow, choiceless existence had been all he’d known for much of his life.  She could not, in good conscience, merely assume that she would have acted differently were she in similar circumstances.

Another part of her wanted to hurt him.  Not kill him, but to try to make him experience some measure of the pain she was feeling now and had felt on Naboo, ten years earlier.  She wanted to see him suffer, to draw some measure of catharsis from that.

But she knew she could not listen to that part of herself.  It was her anger and hurt and betrayal speaking.  She had not become Queen and then Senator of Naboo by giving in to her dark impulses.  Maul had been right when he’d told her she wasn’t a murderer.  She couldn’t kill Venge, or even hurt him, just for hurt’s sake.  It was fundamentally not who she was.

What Padmé _could_ do, however, was demand that he make things right.

“If you want to fix things between us,” she said slowly, “there’s something you can start with.”

Venge nodded.  “And that is?”

Padmé fixed him with her best, most queenly stare.

“You can tell me the identities of the Sith.”

* * *

Qui-Gon watched serenely from the couch as Anakin paced back and forth, a ball of nervous energy, shock, and anger.  “Ten years I’ve thought about her,” Anakin said to nobody in particular.  “And it turns out she’s with Venge!”

“Your fixation on the Senator does _not_ mean she was going to wait for you to come back into her life,” Qui-Gon said firmly.  “You are a Jedi in any event, Anakin.  I have been very lax in enforcing the doctrine of detachment because I feel for you it would do more harm than good.  But this idea of yours that your feelings would be returned simply because you have them – it strikes me as both obsessive and entitled.”

Anakin stopped pacing to look at him, hurt.  “Master, I –”

“What does it matter that she is with Venge?” Maul interrupted.  “Why should this bother you?”

Flailing his arms incoherently, Anakin replied, “He’s – he’s evil!  How can she be the woman I thought she was if she can have feelings for him, even if he lied to her?”

“She is under no obligation to be the woman of your expectations,” Qui-Gon said.  “She is her own person.  If you truly cared for _her,_ and not this notion of her you have created in your mind, you would see that.”

Anakin sank moodily into a chair.  “Have either of you even wanted to be with someone this way?”

“No,” Maul said flatly.  “Physical intimacy is not something I have ever desired, with anyone.  And I have companionship enough in this room.”  He speared Anakin with a gimlet stare.  “Even if one of those companions is being an obtuse child.”

“I have,” Qui-Gon said before Anakin could rise to Maul’s bait.

Shocked, Anakin looked at him.  “Master?  You’ve never said anything.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, remembering.  “Her name was Tahl.  She was a Jedi, and a dear friend.  We trained together in the Temple.  Eventually, as adults, we came to realize that our feelings were more than platonic.”

“And what’d you do?”

He did not like remembering this.  “We pledged our lives to one another while on a mission,” he said.  “It was a heated moment and there was no denying our feelings any longer.  Shortly afterward, she was captured and tortured.  She died of her injuries.”

Anakin looked heartbroken, which was more than a little touching.  Qui-Gon felt tears threatening, but he did not try to deny them or hide them.  “I came very close to the Dark Side that day,” he continued calmly.  “My feelings of loss transformed my attachment to Tahl into an obsession with revenge.”

“But you didn’t Fall,” Anakin said.

“No.  Because, when I was about to execute her murderer, I heard a whisper from the Force.  Tahl – her spirit, her memory, I still cannot say precisely what happened – reached out to me.  In that moment I remembered _her._   I remembered the person I loved, and how she would feel about me taking vengeance for her death.  I realized I was acting not to make her loss right – nothing would ever do that – but to salve my own hurt.  I was being selfish.” 

He felt the tears disappear into his beard, and smiled at Anakin.  “So if you truly care for the Senator, and she gained some measure of happiness from Venge…”

Anakin crossed his arms.  “I understand, Master.  I don’t like it, but I understand.”

“Then you have taken an important step today.”

His Padawan’s gaze was fixed in his lap, but the young man nodded.  “Thank you for sharing that with me, Master.”

“Of course.”  Qui-Gon looked at Maul.  “And you have less room to judge than you may think, Maul.  Remember that unpleasant business on Melida/Daan?  That leader of the Young, Cerasi?  You were quite conflicted about leaving after completing our mission.”

Maul glowered at him.  “I was moved by her passion for a just cause.  I never wanted to…”  He waved a hand in a vague gesture.  “Whatever it is Anakin would like to do with the Senator.”

Anakin flushed scarlet and Qui-Gon restrained a chuckle.  It wouldn’t do to laugh at Anakin’s mortification.  “Fair enough,” he said instead.  “My apologies.”

“Accepted.”  Maul looked as though he might needle Anakin some more, but then his head snapped toward the bedroom door.  Qui-Gon felt it as well.  Shock, and anger, and betrayal, all rekindled, but multiplied a hundredfold from earlier.

Half a second later, the doors slammed open.  Padmé stood framed in the doorway, her hair seeming almost to writhe about her face, her eyes wide and furious.

“ _Palpatine,_ ” she snarled.

* * *

Venge watched the three Jedi sit there, stunned, and process what they’d just been told.  He certainly sympathized with them.  He was somewhat dumbfounded at the step he’d just taken.

Finally, Anakin spoke up.  “He’s – he’s always been so supportive of me.  He told me once he thought I would be the greatest Jedi in living memory.”

“You’re the Chosen One,” Venge said with a derisive snort.  “Of course he’d want to get close to you.  Either to turn you or to know best how to kill you.”

“Never in a thousand years would I have ever thought we could find ourselves in this situation,” Qui-Gon said gravely.  “The Sith, in control of the Republic.  And not one, but two of them.”

Padmé spoke next.  Venge was actually a little taken aback at the cold, simmering fury in her.  He’d had no idea she could even be this angry, this dangerous.  Naturally it only made him want her more, but this was hardly the time.

“Ask any political analyst,” she said.  “Any one of them.  They will _all_ tell you that the invasion of Naboo created a strong sympathy movement in the Senate that guaranteed Palpatine’s election to Supreme Chancellor.  _Guaranteed_ it.”  She looked at the Jedi, then at Venge.  “He arranged that invasion and spent the blood of his own people to maneuver himself into that position.  If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to see him pay for this.  One way or the other.”

“We need to tell Master Yoda,” Anakin spoke up.

“We need to do no such thing,” Qui-Gon said sharply.  “The fact of the matter is that Palpatine and Damask are the two most powerful political figures in the entirety of the Republic.  If we tell Master Yoda, he will tell the Council, and the Council will mobilize the entire might of the Jedi Order against them.  It will be a coup, and not a bloodless one.”

“Exactly,” Padmé said.  “What’s been said here doesn’t leave this room.”

“No,” Venge told her.  “There is one more person I want to bring into this – conspiracy, I suppose.  My contact within the Jedi Order.”

He saw Maul stiffen.  “Yes.  Who is it?”

“Siri Tachi.”

The Zabrak stared at him.  “Master Gallia’s former Padawan?  How did –”

“That is a long story I’ll tell at a later date,” Venge cut him off.  “She’s been instrumental in helping me be the Vigilante Jedi, and I know for a fact that she would want to help us in this endeavor.  We bring her in.”

“But that’s it,” Padmé said.  “It’s going to have to be the six of us for now.”

“And why won’t you just release all the information you’ve got on Palpatine and Damask?” Anakin asked Venge.

“It’s damning evidence,” Venge said.  “When I release it, they’re torched.  Burned forever with the Republic.  But they have escape plans.  And they have resources outside the Republic that I don’t know about, in the Separatist forces.  If I reveal them now, they assume control of the Separatists and start a war the Republic can’t possibly win, as well as going after me and Padmé.  Which is why I won’t reveal them until we can lure them into a trap they won’t possibly be able to escape.”

“And arranging a trap like that will take time,” Maul agreed.  “Which is why we have to keep this knowledge to ourselves for now.  We will not be able to keep the Council from attempting a coup, and it is possible that even the entire Order might fail to kill both of them.”

Padmé summed up.  “So we wait.  We wait until we’ve got them so trapped they can’t possibly escape. 

“And then we make them pay for Naboo.”


	10. Dun Möch

Venge dropped from his speeder to land with practiced ease atop the roof of The Bog.  Just as he’d expected, he wasn’t alone.

“The message I received said it was from Qui-Gon,” he said casually.

Anakin shrugged.  “Would you have come if I’d said it was from me?”

“Yes.  As evidenced by the fact that I _know_ it was from you and am still here.  Or did you expect that I’d believe Qui-Gon wanted to meet me where you and I first came face-to-face?”

That made Anakin scowl, but he didn’t speak to the point.  Instead he crossed his arms and said, “We’re working together now.”

“Yes,” Venge replied, his voice calculatedly bland.  “And it eats at you to know that I’m sleeping with Padmé.”

The flash of anger, he’d anticipated – but not the sheer scope of it.  He could have sworn Anakin’s eyes actually blazed gold for an instant before the Padawan got himself under control again.

“Who the Senator wants to spend personal time with is her business,” he finally growled.  “Master Qui-Gon made it clear that – that I was going into this with unfair expectations.”

Venge said nothing, merely nodding expectantly.

“So,” Anakin continued with obvious difficulty, “I was hoping that –”

“You want to touch her,” Venge said with seeming nonchalance.  “You want to trail your fingers down her naked back and feel her shiver.  You want her to need you, so badly that it consumes her like it’s been consuming you.”

Anakin had gone deadly still.  “Shut up,” he said in a low monotone.  “Before I have to kill you.”

Throwing up his hands, Venge adopted the boy’s rustic Outer Rim accent.  “It’s not my fault!  The evil Sith provoked me!”  He grinned.  “Such a convenient excuse that would be.  You came here hoping I’d give you a reason.  Not even necessarily a good one, merely _a_ reason.  Because Qui-Gon may have made you see that you’ve been a pissant, but the revelation’s a hard one.  You need an outlet to vent the frustration and self-doubt.  And if that outlet happens to be a former Sith, whom no one actually trusts…”

“That’s not what a Jedi should do,” Anakin said stubbornly.

“Not a denial,” Venge noted.  “But no, it isn’t what a Jedi should do.  However, while the Force is with you, you are not a Jedi yet.”

“But I will be.”  Anakin turned and began to pace.  “I want to prove that the Council was wrong when they didn’t want me trained.  I want to prove Qui-Gon was right, that his faith in me isn’t misplaced.”

“ _That_ is all true,” Venge said.  “But it doesn’t change the fact that right now you want nothing more than to wrap your hands around my throat and squeeze.”

“Are you a Truthsayer too?” Anakin asked.

“Truthsayers, despite the name, _hear_ the truth or lack thereof.  The simple fact is that ‘truth-hearer’ sounds foolish.”  Venge hooked his thumbs into his belt.  “The Sith aren’t Truthsayers.  This is called Dun Möch.  I use the Force and my keen insight to read you – your emotions, your personality, your surface thoughts – and craft psychological attacks designed to disrupt your connection with the Light Side.  It can be taunting, or temptation, or simple displays of contempt and superiority.”

“What if it backfires?” Anakin asked, his voice quiet and lethal.  “What if your target gives into their anger and uses it to destroy you?”

Venge narrowed his eyes and smirked.

“Then Padmé will have to find a new lover.”

Anakin whirled around, bringing his left hand up as if to backhand Venge across the face.  His lightsaber was in his grip, and as he completed the maneuver the weapon hissed to life.

Venge took a fast step back to avoid the slash and Force pushed Anakin in the gut, throwing him off the roof.  The younger man reoriented himself in midair and landed deftly on his feet in the alley below.  Leaping after him, Venge drew his Stygium blade and his old Sith saber.  The red and blue beams ignited with twin snap-hisses, throwing the dark confines of the alley into distorted, purplish light.

“Do you really want to try this?” Venge asked.

Anakin’s only responses were a cry and a leaping charge, thrusting his saber at Venge.  With a precise movement of his wrists, Venge caught the thrust, redirected it, and then slid aside to let Anakin sail past him.  Growling, Anakin braked, whirled, then struck again.  Venge decided to let him work some of the anger out.

The two-handed power strikes of Anakin’s Djem So were a traditional counter to Venge’s Jar’kai dual-blade technique.  In that sense, the two of them were well-matched.

In almost every other sense, they were not.

Venge took swing after swing on his dual sabers, blocking with both of them to ensure the strength differential didn’t overwhelm him.  He was just as physically strong as Anakin, but the Padawan was using a two-handed grip, and his boiling anger ignited his Force potential to put preternatural might behind his blows.  Venge let Anakin set the pace, giving ground as the boy pressed his advantage.  Anakin’s wild swings gashed open walls and scattered sparks in the narrow alley.

 _He_ will _just keep attacking until one of us drops if I don’t do something to change the tempo._

Venge feinted a block, then twisted at the last instant.  Anakin’s power attack left him wide open, and he knew it; he tore his right hand free from his saber to swing it at Venge’s face.  He ducked, Anakin’s Force-augmented strength smashing a head-sized crater into the wall and showering him with dust.  A twitch of Venge’s left thumb triggered his Sith saber’s dead-man’s switch, extinguishing the blade.

He rammed the deactivated hilt into Anakin’s kidney.  Anakin shouted in pain and went down on one knee.  Hurling himself into an evasive roll, he bounced back to his feet a safe distance away.

“Mediocre!” Venge called out to him.

Anakin _howled,_ his anger stoked to incoherent levels.  The space around him seemed to warp and distort as his power focused through it.  Venge threw up the thickest Force shield he could, but Anakin’s Push still shattered it and sent him flying back ten meters.  He slammed hard into the dead-end at the rear of the alley, the permacrete of the building cracking with the impact.  The pain was bad enough that he saw stars.

Perhaps taunting the boy hadn’t been an _entirely_ good idea.

Venge snapped his sabers up in time to intercept Anakin’s next charge.  He turned the blow aside into the wall behind him, where it cleaved through brick and rebar like paper.  Again Venge deactivated his Sith saber, this time slamming it up beneath Anakin’s chin.  Anakin staggered back, skin split to the bone and blood gushing.

“I could have killed you twice now,” Venge said.  “Perhaps you’d like to call it a draw?”

Anakin tried another power strike, but Venge slapped it aside and drove his elbow into Anakin’s sternum.  As the Padawan gasped, suddenly unable to breathe, Venge spun into a snap kick to his right shoulder.  The sound of the bone popping from the socket was sharp and surprisingly loud.

“Go ahead and hate me,” Venge continued.  “By all means, do it.  Hate gives you passion, passion gives you strength, strength gives you power, power gives you victory, victory breaks your chains.”

The breaths stuttering in and out of him from the elbow to his sternum, as well as the incredible pain from his dislocated joint, Anakin hissed, “I don’t have any chains.  Not any more.”

“Mm.  Tell me something.  If you went to Qui-Gon tomorrow and told him you’re going back to Tatooine to free all the slaves, what would he say?”

Anakin looked Venge in the eye.  No mistake, Venge thought; Anakin’s eyes were tinged with gold, creeping veins of it intruding into the normal blue of his irises.  “I wouldn’t do that.  We have a mission.”

“No, _Qui-Gon_ has a mission.  You are going to help him with it because you are his Padawan.  I’d call that a chain.”

“It’s not a chain.  It’s obligation.  I owe him.”

“Obligations are chains.  Debts are chains.  Even my feelings for Padmé are chains – but I _choose_ to wear those.”  Venge deactivated his lightsabers and clipped them to his belt, heedless of the fact that Anakin had _not_ deactivated his.  “Do you choose to wear your chains, Anakin?  Think on it.”

“Is this why you came here?” Anakin rasped.  “To try to get me to betray Qui-Gon?  I thought you weren’t supposed to be a Sith anymore.”

“I’m not one.  And I came here to give you the opportunity you wanted so badly – to try and kill me – and then make it abundantly clear that you’re not strong enough yet.”  Venge shrugged.  “The rest is just free advice.  We _are_ allies now.”

Anakin wiped at the blood still running from his chin.  He used his left hand; his right was by now dangling uselessly at his side.  With a groan, he deactivated his lightsaber.  “Fair.  But what you said earlier about Padmé –”

“ _That_ ,” Venge said, “was me saying what you wanted to hear.  You wanted so badly to believe that I am a heartless, manipulative monster, that I am only using her to get to _you._   But the universe does not revolve around you, Chosen One.  My feelings for Padmé exist quite independently of yours.”

Anakin leaned, pained, against the building behind him.  “Okay.  Yeah.  That makes sense.”  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again they were once more their normal blue.  “But I can’t change how I feel about her.  I recognize that just because I have feelings for her doesn’t mean she’s going to return them.  And since we’re allies, I’m not going to try to sabotage you.”  He stopped, then said, “Even if we weren’t, I wouldn’t do that unless you were actually trying to hurt her.  Which you aren’t.”  The admission seemed to pain him almost as much as his shoulder, but he soldiered on.  “But just know, that –”

“If she doesn’t forgive me for my part in Naboo, or I lose her, you’re waiting in the wings?” Venge asked with a smirk.  “Contrary to what you might think, I make no exclusive claim on her feelings.  Ours has always been a dalliance of convenience.  If you think you actually have a chance, Anakin, by all means pursue her.  I won’t sabotage you either.”  He raised an eyebrow, his expression sly.  “It might even lead to some very interesting situations.”

Anakin seemed taken aback, but he also seemed to want to take Venge’s declaration at face value.  He nodded.  “Alright.”

They stood there for a moment, not saying anything, before Anakin cleared his throat.  “This is awkward, but –”

“Yes, I’ll help you with your shoulder,” Venge snorted, placing one hand on Anakin’s collarbone and pressing him slightly back against the building behind him.  He took Anakin’s right wrist in his other hand, extending the arm straight out from Anakin’s body.  “Take a deep breath and I’ll count to three.”  Anakin nodded and took the breath.  “All right.  One.” 

Venge reset Anakin’s shoulder and tried not to laugh too much at the boy’s scream.


	11. The End, And A Beginning

One of the first and most important steps in the formation of a conspiracy, Qui-Gon knew, was determining a meeting place.  Fortunately, in this case the choice had been an easy one.  Padmé’s apartment, her Senate office, the Jedi Temple – all of these places were heavily monitored in one form or another.  The same six people coming and going would quickly be noticed.

This was not true of the family booth in Dex’s Diner.

Now Dex was the conspiracy’s unofficial seventh member, having been informed of their intent to meet regularly and the anticipation of requiring certain favors.  The portly Besalisk slid their meals onto the table two at a time.  “Let me know if you need anything else, old buddy,” he said to Qui-Gon, laying one of his four massive hands on the Jedi Master’s shoulder.  He cast a suspicious look at Venge.  “Or if you need me to start poisoning someone’s food.”

Venge poked with his fork at the unsightly mess of scrambled avian eggs on his plate.  The yolks of these were a dark blue.  “I may not survive these in any case,” he said, his tone drier than the Tatooine desert.

“Thank you, Dex,” Qui-Gon said quickly, before the Besalisk could take proper offense – which would have involved broken furniture at the least.  “We will.”

He waited until Dex stomped off, muttering in Bes’al, before turning his attention to the intense Jedi Knight sitting across the table from him.

Siri Tachi had blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, pale skin, and an athlete’s frame.  She was currently wedged between Anakin and Maul and looking less than happy about it.  “We couldn’t have gone with a diner that has slightly better seating?” she asked.

“Other diners aren’t run by Dex,” Qui-Gon replied.  “Unless you know another restaurant cook who is also an ex-mercenary, with a host of contacts and suppliers –”

“And is also trustworthy,” Maul put in.

“Then Dex’s is our meeting place,” Qui-Gon concluded smoothly.

To Qui-Gon’s left, Padmé shifted in her seat.  When they’d all arrived, she and Venge had both slid into the middle of the booth without comment.  They were not touching, but Qui-Gon had definitely sensed a cooling and stabilizing of the emotional ground between them.  When he’d in turn sat next to Padmé, his big frame taking up that end of the booth, he’d felt a gust of irritation from Anakin.  Things were very much still in flux _there._

“So, Master Tachi,” Padmé began.

“We’re in a conspiracy together,” Siri said.  “No titles.  Call me Siri.”

Padmé nodded.  “Fair.  Siri, how did you become involved with –” she glanced at Venge – “the Vigilante Jedi?”

“I’ve always known he was a Sith,” Siri said bluntly.  “No need to dance around it.”

Maul began cutting his nerf steak into thin strips.  “The question stands.”

With a shrug, Siri began to talk while the rest of them started on their food.  “For my Trial, the Jedi Council had the brilliant idea of staging a public falling-out between me and Master Gallia.  I was excommunicated from the Order.  I took a new identity and joined up with a group of slavers led by this nasty piece of work, a T’surr named Krayn.  The idea was to gather evidence on his organization so the Order and the Judicials could move in and take it all out in one fell swoop.”

Venge swallowed a mouthful of his blue eggs and grinned.  “Tell them what happened next!” he said, sounding suspiciously eager and prideful.  Qui-Gon eyed him, but chose not to comment in favor of tucking into his braised bruallki and letting Siri continue her story.

Siri nodded.  “I’d only been with the group a couple months when I began to have serious issues with the assignment.  Krayn was testing my loyalty – making me lead slave raids, break people, all sorts of awful things.”

“Krayn was a piece of shit,” Anakin said darkly, his fingers tightening on his utensils.  “The Sith may be the ultimate evil, but he was right behind them.  Half the people in the Mos Espa slave quarters were there because of him or his crew.”

“He was indeed a piece of shit,” Siri agreed.  “Then, three months in, Krayn picked up an unusual prisoner.  A human male with weird tattoos around his eyes.”

Padmé laughed quietly between bites of Besa stir-fry.  “They _are_ weird.”

“Not the point of the story,” Venge growled.  “And they are not weird.  They are esoteric Sith symbols of power.”

“Clearly they are the reason you managed to defeat me on Naboo,” Maul said without looking up from his steak.

There was a tense silence.  Then Venge sighed theatrically.  “Well played, Maul.  Siri?”

“Krayn had an understanding with the Commerce Guild, the Techno-Union, and the Corporate Alliance,” she continued.  “When they needed off-the-books labor, they used his product, and he stayed out of the Corporate Sector.  But he broke that truce when he raided Saffalore as part of a deal he’d struck with Durga the Hutt.”

“Krayn was smart enough to fly false colors during the raid,” Venge said, “but it wasn’t hard to for those in the know to recognize his equipment and tactics.  Plagueis was _not_ pleased.”

“So, eight days later, Venge practically walked into one of our cells.”  Siri stabbed a fork into the greens on her plate.  “Let himself get captured at blaster-point during a raid on Boz Pity.”

“I immediately recognized her as a Jedi,” Venge carried on the story while Siri ate.  “And she recognized me as – well, _not_ a Jedi.  We had a chat, and she decided to help me kill all of them rather than simply stand aside or try to stop me.”

Anakin grinned.  “Oh, that must have been satisfying.”

“You have no idea,” Siri told him, her eyes distant.  “I knew that what I was feeling was rooted in the Dark Side, but at the same time it was _right._   It was _justice._   If I could have killed them all over again, I would have – with a smile on my face.”

“So we decided that we should keep a good thing going,” Venge concluded.  “We went our separate ways, but with one another’s contact information.  When Sidious told me to create the Vigilante Jedi, I knew the Force was guiding me in Siri’s direction again.”

“Speaking of our Supreme Chancellors,” Qui-Gon interjected.  “I contacted Damask this morning.  I told him the Vigilante Jedi is still at large, but the trail is cold and we have no solid leads.  I promised that we would continue to investigate and hope for a break in the case, but that he should not expect results.  He was unhappy, to say the least, but we should be free to pursue our goals without being constantly asked why we are not on Venge’s trail.”

Maul spoke up, placing his utensils down on his now-empty plate with finality.  “To that end, we need to determine our first course of action in pursuit of our goal – namely, bringing down Sidious and Plagueis.  At the moment, I suggest our best leads all lie with the Separatist Alliance.  Dooku is leading it, and we know he is in collusion with the Sith.”

“Not just collusion,” Venge corrected him.  “He’s a _convert._   His Sith name is Darth Tyranus.”

Qui-Gon felt a stab of pain at Venge’s words.  The need to see his former master again, to confront him, was like a physical thing, burning in his chest.

“Well, there’s a lead right here on Coruscant,” Padmé said.  “The Jedi know who hired assassins to kill Representative Elessan’ra and Zam Wesell to kill me.  We need that name.”

Anakin brandished a datapad from his robe.  “Jango Fett.”

Everyone just stared at him for a long moment.

“And you know this how?” Siri finally asked.

“Let’s just say that the Council Databanks should have a better password,” Anakin replied.  “The assassin Venge didn’t kill gave up that name.  From there, the Council – get this – _repurposed the Coruscant traffic control supercomputing network._   The entire thing.  They used it to analyze every single holocam feed from the government district in the two days before the attack on the Representative.  From that, they found the assassins’ trail, and they followed that through eighteen different neighborhoods before they found where the men met with Fett.

“Once they found that, they did an analysis of every comm signal in the area for two hours on either side of the meeting.  Isolated Fett’s frequency.  He made a couple local calls, including the one to Wesell, and another they tagged as high-interest.  That one was to an extragalactic set of coordinates.”

“Good work, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said, digesting the information.  He allowed himself a moment to marvel at his Padawan’s skill.  The boy had grown up so much from when they’d first met on Tatooine.  “What do the coordinates correspond to?”

Anakin, who a moment earlier had been glowing with pride at Qui-Gon’s compliment, made a face.  “I have no idea.  They weren’t in the Temple starmaps.  As far as I can tell, it’s empty space.”

“Venge?” Qui-Gon asked.

The younger man shook his head.  “I have no idea.  The only reason I knew about Zam Wesell was that I practically tripped over her on my way to Padmé’s apartment.  She told me, before she died, that she’d been hired by the Separatists, but this is the first I’ve heard of Fett’s involvement.”

Siri leaned forward.  “You know him?”

“His work, not the man.  What I can tell you is that a person like Fett doesn’t make calls to empty space.”

“We need to investigate this,” Qui-Gon pronounced, feeling the stirrings in the Force.  “The Council will be sending someone to go look eventually, but I believe we can arrive first.”

“And then when the Council’s investigator shows up, they find out they’re not the first Jedi to visit recently?” Padmé asked.  “That’s not going to work.  If the Council’s going to be sending someone, couldn’t you arrange for it to be one of you?”

“I can approach them,” Maul said, clearly warming to the idea.  “I can tell them I discovered Fett’s signal while investigating the Vigilante Jedi, and volunteer to go.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “We need to ensure that we are never too obviously working together.  If any one of us is investigating a lead, the rest of us have to be visibly still on active duty.”  He turned to the former Sith sitting at the table.  “With one notable exception.”

Venge grinned and looked at Maul.

“It’ll be just like old times!”

* * *

Darth Plagueis furnished a practiced smile for the dark-skinned, bald Jedi Master seating himself across the desk.  “Master Windu.  Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Windu gave a small shrug, communicating eloquently how eager he already was to be somewhere else.  Plagueis knew how the Council members chafed when they were _summoned._   “Supreme Chancellor,” he said.  “You said you had something to discuss?”

“Just an informal meeting,” Plagueis said, extending the smallest tendril of Force power to touch the other.  Windu didn’t notice.  “Completely off the record.”

“Of course.”

Already in contact, Plagueis reached in and began to twist, subtly.  “I received a distressing call today from Master Qui-Gon Jinn.  I asked him and his Padawan to assist this office in locating the Vigilante Jedi, but he tells me the culprit is still at large and the trail is cold.”

“That’s a shame,” Windu said, his forehead furrowing slightly.  He could sense something was wrong, Plagueis knew, but he didn’t know what it was.  “Although it was a little unusual, you going directly to him instead of coming to the Council with your request.”

“I recognize that, of course,” Plagueis replied smoothly.  “But I have known Master Qui-Gon for decades – not on any truly personal level, but my experiences with the man led me to believe this was a matter uniquely suited to his talents.  Sadly, it seems I was mistaken.”  He pushed, just a little harder, and he felt Windu’s midi-chlorians begin to fall into line.

“It seems so,” Windu said.  His voice had changed, just slightly, falling into a stilted monotone.

“The Vigilante Jedi is actually the Sith, Venge, that Qui-Gon and Maul encountered on Naboo,” Plagueis continued, as nonchalant as though he were discussing the weather.  “His name is Kenobi; he also goes by ‘Ben.’  You should know that he has in his possession information potentially ruinous to the Republic and to the Jedi Order.”

If he had been in his right mind, Windu would have at the least been shocked.  Instead, he merely nodded calmly.  “Yes.”

Plagueis continued to twist.  “He has prepared mechanisms to release the information if he dies or is otherwise incapacitated.  If you find Kenobi, you should make every effort to ascertain what these mechanisms are, so you can prevent the release of that information.”

“Yes,” Windu said once more.

“And then,” Plagueis finished, tone pleasant, “only once the information has been neutralized… you should kill him.”

Windu rose to his feet.  “I’ll be sure to do that, Supreme Chancellor.  Is there anything else?”

Shaking his head, Plagueis said, “No.  That will be all, Master Windu.  You may go.”

The Jedi Master turned to leave.  He was halfway to the door when Plagueis said, “Actually, Master Windu, there is one more thing.  If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Yes?” Windu asked over his shoulder.

Plagueis allowed the Dark Side to burn behind his eyes, hot and bright and terrible.  “Please ask Master Ki-Adi-Mundi to come by when he has a moment, for an informal meeting.

“Off the record.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have committed the Ultimate Sin: I have written the word "midi-chlorians." But it's Plagueis's shtick, so.
> 
> We will have more stories in this series coming soon! Thanks for reading and enjoying!
> 
> (By the way, in case you were wondering, the Council Databank's password is "maytheforcebewithyou." Anakin isn't wrong.)


End file.
